AS 

THE  HART 
PANTETH 


BY  HALL1E  ERMINIE  RIVES 


sfa*-*-*- 


AS  THE  HART  PANTETH 


BY 

HALLIE   ERMINIE   RIVES. 


NEW    YOR  K: 

eopmiQHT,  mi,  ir 

G.    W.  Dillingham   Co.,  Publishers, 

MDCCCXCVIII. 

[All  rights  reserved.] 


TO 

A  MEMORY. 

[31 


2061959 


CONTENTS. 


PACK 

THE   WOMAN 

185 

[5] 


AS  THE  HART  PANTETH. 


THE  CHILD. 

CHAPTER  I. 

HE  sat  just  outside  the  lofty  doorway,  that 
opened  between  the  bare  hall  and  front  veran- 
dah. The  great  white  columns  held  a  wild  cle- 
matis vine,  the  leaves  of  which  almost  concealed 
the  bricks  where  the  plaster  had  fallen  off.  Pres- 
ently a  child  came  out  with  a  violin  in  her  hand. 
She  went  up  to  him,  and  laying  her  full  cheek 
against  his  shrunken  one,  caressed  him.  Her 

[7] 


8  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

blue  eyes  that  went  black  in  an  instant,  from  the 
pupils'  swift  dilation,  had  the  direct  gaze  of  one 
knowing  nothing  of  the  world  and  never  fearing 
to  be  misunderstood.  She  was  slim  yet  strong; 
her  waving  hair  that  fell  softly  about  her  face  was 
the  color  of  sunburnt  cornsilk,  her  skin  ovalling 
from  it,  smooth  and  white,  like  a  bursting  mag- 
nolia bud. 

"Grandpa,  I  can  play  'The  Mocking  Bird'  for 
you  now." 

"Play  it,  God's  child;  play  it,"  he  said. 

As  she  leaned  against  the  column  and  began 
playing,  his  face,  old  and  worn  with  many  griefs, 
seemed,  for  a  moment,  rejuvenated  by  the  spirit 
of  his  lost  youth.  His  heart  stirred  strangely 
within  him,  and  he  was  minded  of  another  slim, 
little  girl,  who  came  down  to  the  gate  to  meet 
him  when  the  day  was  done  in  the  long  ago. 
She  had  the  same  glorious  hair,  and  tender,  fear- 
less eyes  and  love  for  him.  But  that  was  more 
than  forty  years  gone  by  and  she  was  dead. 

As  the  strains  became  fuller  and  sweeter,  a 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  9 

bird  began  twittering,  trilling  among  the  leaves, 
imitating  the  sounds  it  heard. 

"Listen.  Do  you  hear  that,  Esther?"  whisper- 
ing, as  he  searched  for  a  sight  of  the  singer. 
"There  it  is.  It's  a  mocking  bird,"  he  said, 
pointing  to  the  young  thing,  as  the  fluting 
feathers  on  its  throat  stood  out  like  the  pipes  of 
an  organ.  Its  song,  accompanying  the  tune, 
never  ceased  until  the  violin  was  tossed  upon  the 
bench  and  the  child  was  in  the  old  man's  arms. 

"That  was  beautiful,  beautiful !"  His  eyes  were 
filled  with  tears  of  enthusiasm  that  fell  upon  her 
hair. 

"Your  mother  used  to  play  that,  when  she  was 
young."  He  spoke  with  the  weight  of  profound 
emotion,  that  glowed  in  his  eyes,  and  quivered 
on  his  lips. 

"And  did  the  bird  sing  with  her?"  a  softer 
look  coming  upon  the  childish  face. 

"I  don't  remember  that  it  did,  though  she  was 
always  a  friend  to  the  birds  that  built  their  nests 
about  us.  She  kept  the  boys  from  breaking  them 


10  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

up  or  trapping  them.  Every  spring  they  sang 
here  in  the  trees.  They  seemed  to  know  that  she 
was  looking  after  them.  That  must  have  been 
what  she  was  born  for.  She  was  always  watching 
over  something  or  somebody."  He  swallowed 
hard.  "I  can  see  her  now,  bending  over  her 
work,  late  at  night,  stitching  away,  with  her  fin- 
gers on  those  gray  clothes  for  the  boys  in  the 
army — your  Uncle  Billy  and  your  father." 

"Was  she  little,  then?"  Esther  inquired,  while 
with  one  hand  she  clasped  his  wrist,  and  with  the 
other  stroked  his  brow. 

"No.  When  the  war  broke  out,  she  was  just 
about  to  be  married  to  your  father,  who  had  been 
appointed  Captain  under  General  Lee.  She  made 
a  coat  for  him  and  quilted  money  in  the  collar. 
She  had  a  way  of  doing  things  that  nobody  would 
have  thought  of.  You  remind  me  of  her."  He 
folded  his  hands  across  his  stick  and  was  silent 
for  a  moment.  "There  is  much  about  her  life 
that  I  want  you  to  know,  and  bear  in  mind,  now 
that  you  are  getting  old  enough  to  understand. 


A  s  The  Hart  Panteth.  1 1 

She  had  great  hopes  for  you,  for  your  music. 
I've  been  thinking  how  proud  she  would  be  if  she 
could  know  that  you  had  got  along  well  enough 
to  be  invited  to  play  at  the  University— on  com- 
mencement night  at  that.  I  ask  nothing  higher 
for  you  than  that  you  make  such  a  woman  as 
your  mother." 

They  did  not  see  the  old  negro,  ragged  to  the 
skin,  coming  around  the  corner  of  the  house,  car- 
rying his  discolored  straw  hat  in  one  hand  and 
mopping  his  face  on  a  faded  cotton  handker- 
chief. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"G'MORNIN*,  Marse  Hardin." 

"Howdy,  Sandy.  Where  did  you  come  from? 
I  thought  you'd  gone  clear  out  of  the  country, 
for  good." 

"Nor  sir,  nor  sir.  You  jes'  let  a  nigger  git  a 
taste  of  dis  here  spring  water,  and  he's  charmed, 
conjured,  he  kyant  stay  away  if  he  do  go.  But 
I  come  back,  dis  time,  to  see  my  young  marster 
— Marse  Davy  Pool." 

"How  is  he  to-day?" 

"He  daid.  Dat's  what  I  was  sent  to  tell  you. 
Dey  guinter  bury  him  up  at  de  old  place." 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear  of  his  death,  Sandy.  He 
was  the  best  one  of  the  boys." 

"Dat's  so,  sir;  'tain't  nobody  guine  to  miss  him 
[12] 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  13 

like  his  mammy  do.  She's  told  me  to  ax  you  for 
your  hoss  and  buggy.  She's  afeared  of  the  boys' 
hosses,  dey  keep  such  wild  uns.  Marse  Davy 
sold  his'n,  dat  was  the  onliest  one  she  would  ride 
behind.  She  said  she  wanted  Marse  Hardin 
Campbell's.  It  was  so  trusty  and  gentlelike." 

"I  was  going  to  use  it  after  dinner."  Mr. 
Campbell  hesitated. 

"Send  it  on,  grandpa.  Send  it  on."  Esther 
saw  the  inquiring  look  her  grandfather  turned 
upon  her.  "Something  will  turn  up." 

"Suppose,  it  shouldn't;  would  you  be  disap- 
pointed?" he  asked. 

"I  never  count  on  being  disappointed,"  she 
responded,  quickly. 

"Ain't  she  some  kin  to  Miss  Mary  Campbell?" 
The  negro's  face  lighted  as  he  asked  the  ques- 
tion. 

"That's  her  daughter,  Miss  Esther  Powel." 

"It  'peared  to  me  like  I  seed  de  favor  in  her 
face.  Ev'ybody  loved  your  mammy,  honey. 


14  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

'Twarn'  nobody  that  didn't,"  he  said,  turning  to 
look  again  at  Esther. 

"The  horse  is  in  the  pasture."  Mr.  Campbell 
turned  to  the  child.  "Can't  you  run  and  show 
him  where  the  bridle  is?"  Bareheaded,  she 
bounded  down  the  steps,  and  motioned  to  the  old 
negro  to  follow.  She  took  the  bridle  and  swung 
it  over  his  arm.  "Mind  the  foot  log,  Uncle  San- 
dy, the  hand  rail  has  been  washed  away.  The 
pasture  is  over  the  creek.  There  is  Selam  now, 
under  the  sweet  gum  tree."  She  pointed.  "You 
will  find  the  harness  in  the  carriage  house  here." 

She  watched  him  go  over  the  slope  to  the 
creek,  then  stood  gazing  about  her  in  childish 
contemplation.  It  was  nearly  noon.  The 
shadow  straightening  in  the  doorway  indicat- 
ed it. 

Mr.  Campbell  looked  and  saw  her.  His  heart 
warmed  toward  her  comeliness;  moreover  she 
was  sweet  of  nature  and  had  a  ready  smile  even 
for  those  who  had  not  been  kind  to  her.  Sudden- 
ly she  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the  carriage 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  15 

house.  She  feared  that  her  pony  could  not  pull 
the  heavy  vehicle  that  alone  was  left  to  take  her 
to  the  University.  It  taxed  her  strength  to  draw 
the  heavy  bar  from  across  the  carriage  house 
door.  She  sprang  backward,  as  she  dropped  it 
upon  the  ground;  then  went  in  to  examine  the 
carriage  that  had  not  been  used  since  she  was  a 
baby,  almost  fifteen  years  before.  The  clumsy 
conveyance  had  small  iron  steps  that  let  down — 
steps  that  her  mother's  child  feet  had  pressed  in 
climbing  to  the  seat.  The  wheels  were  so  heavy 
and  cumbersome  that  she  shook  her  head  doubt- 
fully. The  green  satin  lining  was  in  shreds;  the 
worn  leather  seats  covered  with  tufts  of  hair, 
while  here  and  there  a  dead  leaf  or  twig  was 
tangled  in  its  coarse  mesh.  It  had  required  a 
pair  to  draw  it  in  those  old  days.  She  had  for- 
gotten that.  The  tongue  was  held  up  in  its  posi- 
tion above  by  a  girder  in  the  loft.  Esther  gave 
it  a  strong,  hard  pull;  the  tongue  fell  forward, 
and  as  she  skipped  out  of  its  path  the  lumbering 
old  carriage  went  rolling  down  the  incline,  and 


16  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

clouds  of  dust,  as  though  indignant  at  being  dis- 
turbed, sullenly  rose  and  fell  about  her. 

Old  and  dilapidated  harness  that  hung  down 
from  the  walls  swayed  slowly  in  the  general  com- 
motion. Esther  wiped  the  dust  from  her  eyes  and 
drew  a  long  breath,  looking  defiantly  at  the  re- 
sult. She  looked  down.  There,  at  her  feet,  lay 
a  bird,  fluttering  beside  its  fallen  nest.  Her  face 
lost  its  look  of  defiance. 

"You  poor,  little  thing,"  bending  down  and 
cuddling  it  to  the  softness  of  her  cheek.  "Don't 
die,  please,  don't  die!"  she  said,  in  dismay.  "It 
will  break  my  heart  if  I  have  killed  you."  With 
tears  streaming  down  her  face  she  ran  swiftly 
to  the  house. 

"Grandpa,  do  something  for  it,"  laying  it  in  his 
hand.  "Can  you  save  it?  It's  a  mocking  bird, 
too.  I  shook  it  out  of  the  carriage." 

"They  have  nested  there  for  years,"  he  said  as 
he  drew  the  wings  gently  through  his  fingers. 
"They  are  not  broken,"  he  assured  her. 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  17 

"Are  you  sure  it  will  live?"  She  was  looking  at 
him  with  frightened  eyes. 

"Live?  Yes;  and  have  a  nest  and  young  ones 
of  its  own  next  year.  It  is  only  stunned.  Leave 
it  in  the  parlor  where  it  will  be  safe  from  the 
cats  and  it  will  be  all  right  soon." 

A  faint  rumbling  noise  broke  in  upon  their 
voices.  They  looked  up  to  listen.  It  was  like 
the  sound  of  a  wagon  rolling.  "Put  it  away, 
quick,  and  run  to  the  creek  to  show  them  how  to 
cross  the  ford."  They  had  kept  close  watch  over 
the  passers  since  the  winter  hauling  had  cut  deep 
holes  in  the  bed  of  the  stream.  It  was  a  treacher- 
ous crossing.  Closing  the  door  upon  her  charge, 
Esther  ran  through  the  garden,  the  nearest  way. 
She  sped  with  the  lithe  agility  of  a  young  fawn, 
and  before  thfe  newcomer  was  fairly  into  the 
stream  she  was  there  giving  directions.  The 
mountain  stream  ran  fleet  between  its  low  banks, 
winding  in  haste  through  the  valley.  Tall  syca- 
mores, sentinels  in  silver  armor,  stood  beside  it 
on  either  hand. 


CHAPTER  III. 

MB.  CAMPBELL  stood  watching.  Very  soon 
the  front  gate  opened  and  a  boy  came  in,  driving 
two  white  mules,  with  red  tassels  on  their  bridle 
bits.  Amazement  filled  his  eyes  when  he  saw 
that  it  was  a  wagon  load  of  coffins,  and  on  the 
topmost  one  Esther  sat  smiling.  As  they  drove 
up  near  the  door,  he  went  out  to  help  her  down. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  something  would  turn  up, 
grandpa;  this  wagon  is  going  right  by  the  Uni- 
versity this  evening."  She  threw  her  arms  about 
his  neck;  her  laugh  rang  out  in  pure  triumph. 
"Hitch  your  team,  young  man;  a  boy  will  come 
to  take  it  out  and  feed  it."  When  they  saw 
Esther  again  she  was  ready  for  her  jaunt.  Her 

violin  was  in  its  case;  her  fresh  white  organdie 
[18] 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  19 

folded  with  as  much  care  as  she  gave  to  any- 
thing— duty  and  care  were  unknown  to  her.  Her 
visit  to  the  University  by  such  a  conveyance 
would  be  the  extreme  limit  of  indulgence,  yet 
she  had  no  thought  of  being  denied. 

"I  am  ready,"  she  announced  at  table.  Mr. 
Campbell  burst  into  a  laugh,  half  of  annoyance, 
yet  touched  with  the  ring  of  true  amusement. 

"I  really  believe  you  would  go." 

"I'd  go  on  foot  if  necessary  to  keep  my  prom- 
ise," she  answered  quickly. 

"How  could  the  college  folks  know  that  Mr. 
David  Pool  had  to  be  buried  to-day  when  they 
printed  my  name  on  the  programme?" 

Watching  her  eyes,  he  caught  their  softness, 
their  innocence,  and  knew  that  her  eagerness 
was  sincere. 

"Let  her  go,  Mr.  Campbell,  I'll  take  good 
care  of  her."  The  boy  was  a  Rudd.  Although 
he  held  a  lowly  position,  he  was  not  counted  of 
the  common  people.  Mr.  Campbell  had  the  old 
Virginia  pride  of  race  in  him. 


20  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"I  know  you  would." 

Esther  looked  steadily  into  his  gray  eyes  and 
saw  a  relenting  twinkle. 

"Am  I  going?"  Turning  to  her  with  a  quiet 
smile :  "Yes,  you  may  go.'  He  could  not  see  her 
disappointed  when  her  heart  was  so  determined. 
With  a  little  cry  of  joy  she  brought  her  hands  to- 
gether. "I  wish  you  could  come  along,  grandpa. 
It  will  be  such  fun,  and  I  wanted  you  to  hear  me 
to-night."  When  the  wagon  came  around  Esther 
was  helped  up  with  her  case  and  bundle.  Her 
violin  she  held  tenderly  across  her  arm.  Mr. 
Campbell  went  with  them  to  close  the  gate. 

"Good-bye;  you  will  be  in  for  me  to-morrow." 
Leaning  down,  she  embraced  his  head.  "Be 
sweet,  God's  child,"  he  said,  as  they  drove  off. 
Esther  kissed  her  hand  to  him,  as  he  stood  by 
the  roadside  looking  after  them.  The  cook,  at 
the  kitchen  door,  waved  her  dish  rag  for  a  frantic 
moment.  The  whirl  of  dust  from  the  wheels 
soon  clouded  the  view.  The  old  man  turned, 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  21 

and  went  slowly  back  to  the  house  with  a  misty 
smile  over  his  features. 

A  quaint,  pathetic  figure  that,  of  Hardin 
Campbell,  with  his  age,  his  poverty  and  the  care 
of  this  child.  Here  had  once  been  planter  life 
in  its  carelessness  and  lavishness.  It  had  been 
the  home  of  friend  and  neighbor  and  the  hos- 
pitable shelter  of  the  transient  guest.  All  the 
grand  folk  that  came  that  way  made  this  place 
headquarters  in  the  days  when  Mr.  Campbell  was 
reckoned  rich.  But  what  he  had  lost  in  wealth 
he  had  more  than  gained  in  pride,  and  the  child 
was  brimming  over  with  it.  Generous,  impetu- 
ous, enthusiastic,  as  she  was,  this  wild  young 
creature  of  nature,  unhindered,  venturesome  and 
full  of  whims,  would,  he  hoped,  find  pride  her 
safeguard.  He  did  not  believe  in  curbing  her. 
He  guided,  but  did  not  limit  her  and  tried  to  keep 
from  her  all  warping  influences.  This  was  the 
way  her  mother  had  begun  with  her  and  he  was 
only  continuing  her  way  for  a  while — it  could 
not  be  very  long  before  he  would  have  to  resign 


22  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

his  charge.       To  whom — he  did  not  know  and 
could  not  bear  to  dwell  upon  the  thought. 

About  the  whole  place  there  was  evidence  of 
departed  glory.  In  the  great  white  buildings 
which  rose  from  the  labyrinth  of  shrubbery  like 
grim  ghosts  of  the  past;  in  the  rows  of  cabins, 
formerly  the  dwellings  of  a  horde  of  happy- 
hearted  negroes,  everywhere  wras  evidence  of  the 
bygone  prodigal  days.  The  house,  of  colonial 
style,  with  its  series  of  tall  columns  standing 
about  the  broad  collonade,  was  partially  screened 
by  the  live  oaks  and  was  set  some  distance  back 
from  the  big  road.  These  encircling  columns 
were  built  of  brick,  with  a  coating  of  plaster, 
once  as  white  as  the  teeth  of  Uncle  Simon,  the 
plantation  white-washer,  who  in  former  days 
would  put  an  immaculate  dress  on  them  regular- 
ly once  a  month  by  means  of  an  elevated  step- 
ladder,  but  now  Uncle  Simon's  labors  were  done. 
The  neglected  columns  were  crumbling  with  age 
and  sadly  splotched  with  the  red  of  exposed 
masonry.  At  one  side  of  the  verandah  there 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  23 

spread  the  delicate  green  of  the  star-jassamine, 
with  its  miniature  constellations  flecking  the 
background.  Through  the  vista,  leading  to  the 
house,  from  the  big  gate  in  front,  flashed  the 
crimson  of  a  flowering-pear  in  full  blossom.  The 
blinds  of  the  house  that  had  once  been  green, 
were  now  hanging  from  their  hinges,  weather- 
stained,  giving  full  view  of  a  number  of  broken 
window  panes,  in  one  of  which,  on  the  second 
story,  was  perched  a  wren,  whose  energetic  chat- 
tering over  her  nest  hardby  was  the  most  decided 
indication  of  active  life. 

In  the  rear  of  the  buildings  stretched  the 
cabins.  To  the  right  of  them  were  the  stables 
and  the  carriage  house,  with  its  weather  vane  of 
a  flying  steed  on  the  top,  but  for  years  the  most 
vigorous  gales  had  failed  to  spur  this  steed  to 
action  and  its  tail,  at  one  time  proudly  aflaunt 
to  the  breeze,  had  yielded  to  time  and  rust,  and, 
like  that  of  Tarn  o'  Shanter's  mare,  knew  naught 
of  direction.  There  was  the  dreary  stillness  of 
desolation  over  all  things.  But  still  a  hospitable 


24  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

glow  was  in  the  summer  sunshine  and  shone  as 
well  in  the  eyes  of  the  old  master. 


Esther  took  off  her  hat  when  she  got  into  the 
depths  of  the  woods  and  drew  out  her  violin.  "I 
will  amuse  the  boy,"  she  thought,  "if  I  play  to 
him,"  for  she  had  tired  of  talking  against  the 
rumbling  of  the  wagon  and  its  load.  In  his  way, 
he  appreciated  her  motive,  for  now  and  again  he 
called  back  to  her,  awkwardly  commending  her, 
and  urging  her  to  continue.  Near  the  spring 
they  saw  the  negro  washerwomen,  with  sleeves 
rolled  to  their  shining  shoulders,  bending  over 
their  tubs;  faded,  limp  skirts,  bloused  through 
apron  belts,  and  dangled  about  their  bare  legs. 
A  big  wash  kettle  heaped  with  white  linen  stood 
to  one  side.  Around  it  a  fire  was  burning  low 
for  want  of  fuel. 

"O — o — h!  Yo'  Tagger,  Tag-g-e-r;  you'd  bet- 
ter come  on  here,  ef  you  know  what's  good  for 
you,"  called  one  of  the  women  with  a  long,  re- 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  25 

sounding  echo  that  drowned  the  answer  of  the 
small  voice  that  said  he  was  on  his  way.  A  troop 
of  little  niggers  came  to  the  roadside  pulling  a 
wagon  load  of  brush  and  bark  gathered  through 
the  woods.  They  looked  back  and  spied  Esther 
on  the  coffins.  With  a  wild  yell  the  children, 
load  and  all,  tumbled  over  the  embankment, 
rolling  over  each  other  in  the  dust,  screaming, 
"Mammy!  mammy!"  at  the  top  of  their  voices, 
scrambling  to  their  feet  and  running  with  might 
and  main  down  the  road.  As  Esther  drew  up  to 
the  wash-place,  the  little  fellows  were  clinging 
frantically  to  the  knees  of  their  mothers. 

"It's  a  little  ha'nt  blowin'  Gabel's  trumpet. 
Don't  let  it  ketch  me!  don't  let  it  ketch  me!" 

"In  de  name  ob  de  Lawd!"  said  one  of  the 
women,  seeing  what  had  caused  the  fright;  "ain't 
you  all  got  de  sense  you  was  born  wid?  Don't 
you  know  Miss  Esther  Powel,  Marse  Hardin's 
granddaughter?"  The  eyes  of  the  pickaninnies 
were  blinded  by  the  wads  of  wet  aprons  they  had 
covered  them  with,  and  the  sound  of  the  wheels 


26  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

filled  them  with  terror.  "Dry  up!"  The  big 
dripping  hand  pounded  on  their  heads.  "Scuse 
'em,  Miss  Esther,  you'd  think  dese  youngun's 
been  fotch  up  wid  wild  injun's." 

"Tagger,"  Esther  called  the  boy,  whose  name, 
Montague,  she  had  been  responsible  for.  "Don't 
you  know  me?  I  played  for  you  to  dance  a  jig 
for  the  young  men  who  used  to  visit  Will  Curtis 
before  he  died.  You  haven't  forgotten  that,  have 
you?"  Hearing  her  familiar  voice,  he  slowly 
peeped  out  with  scared  eyes. 

"You  little  monkey.  Dip  me  some  water 
out  of  the  spring."  She  saw  a  long,  yellow 
gourd  hanging  from  a  striped  bough  above  their 
heads.  "I  want  a  drink."  He  sprang  up  and 
snatched  the  gourd,  and  before  she  could  say 
more,  he  was  holding  it  up  to  her,  standing  on 
his  tiptoes,  grinning,  as  the  tears  ran  down  and 
stained  his  dusty  face. 

"I  am  going  to  play  at  the  University  to- 
night," she  said,  hanging  back  the  gourd. 

"You  don'  say?    One  of  dem  'Varsity  gem- 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  27 

men's  coming  out  to  see  Marse  Will's  folks  next 
week."  Tagger's  mother  lived  with  the  Curtises, 
whose  home  was  just  beyond  the  spring.  "I'll  be 
bound,  you  beat  'em  all  dar  if  you  does  play 
to-night,"  she  said  when  she  saw  they  were  leav- 
ing. 

Bareheaded,  Esther  rode  on,  as  long  as  the 
shade  was  over  them,  tying  on  her  hat  only  when 
they  got  to  the  sunny  way  of  the  road.  A  man 
plowing  in  a  cornfield,  looked  up  as  he  stopped 
at  the  turn  of  the  row.  He  gazed  intently,  rap- 
ping the  line  mechanically  about  his  wrist. 

"What  is  her  grandpa  thinking  of?"  seeing  it 
was  Esther,  whom  he  knew.  "But  she'd  a  gone 
in  spite  of  hell  and  high  water."  With  this  aloud 
to  himself,  he  drew  his  shirt  sleeve  across  the 
sweat  on  his  brow  and  trudged  back  down  the 
row,  relieved. 

After  two  hours  or  more,  through  the  heat, 
Esther  was  glad  when  at  last  she  could  see  the 
end  of  her  journey.  The  sunlight  lay  radiant  up- 
on the  stretch  of  country  famed  for  this  honored 


28  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

institution  of  learning.  Just  before  her,  upon  an 
eminence,  spread  the  University  buildings,  the 
tall  spires  marking  their  profile  on  the  sky.  The 
sun's  rays  shot  up  behind  them  its  last  warm 
flashes.  Its  heat  had  already  dampened  Esther's 
hair,  deepening  the  red  tint  of  its  waves  against 
her  temples.  The  campus  was  alive  with  stu- 
dents coming  and  going  in  every  direction.  The 
tenor  of  the  glee  club,  in  his  striped  sweater  of 
the  college  colors,  humming  a  popular  air, 
walked  leisurely  across  to  where  one  fellow  was 
sprawled  on  the  ground,  gazing  at  the  wagon 
with  an  amused  curiosity  on  his  handsome  face. 

"By  Jupiter!  that's  a  pretty  child."  The  tenor 
turned  to  look,  as  his  friend  spoke. 

"Well,  if  that  isn't  a  caper!  Wonder  where  she 
is  bound?"  Just  then  a  pert  freshman,  standing 
in  a  group,  gave  a  college  yell.  Then  there  was 
a  chorus  of  rapturous  cheers,  in  which  most  of 
them  joined.  Before  the  noise  had  subsided,  the 
man  on  the  grass  had  leaped  to  his  feet,  full  of  in- 
dignation, and  dashed  off  toward  the  freshman, 


As  The  Hart  Pantcth.  29 

"Silence!  you  fellows!  Have  you  forgotten 
yourselves?"  A  few  hisses  were  mingled  with 
the  applause  that  greeted  him,  but  the  freshman 
was  quick  to  say  at  his  elbow : 

"I  didn't  mean  it  for  her." 

"How  could  she  know  that?"  He  walked  away 
saying:  "I'll  wager  there  is  something  out  of 
the  ordinary  in  that  girl." 

He  was  of  the  fiber  that  commanded  the  re- 
spect of  men  at  a  glance. 

"Andrews  always  turns  up  at  the  right  time, 
you  may  count  on  that,"  said  one  of  the  students 
as  he  watched  him  sauntering  in  the  direction  of 
the  wagon,  his  eyes  following  the  child.  She  was 
perched  like  a  white  winged  bird  of  good  omen 
on  a  funeral  pyre.  Only  a  nature  adventurous  to 
audacity  would  do  such  a  thing  as  that.  But  he 
loved  daring  personalities,  strong  motives  and 
even  a  misadventure,  if  it  were  a  brave  one. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

GLENN  ANDKEWS  was,  by  every  gift  of  na- 
ture, a  man.  His  sensitive,  expressive  face,  his 
brown  eyes  glowing  with  a  light  that  seemed  to 
come  from  within,  his  clear  and  resolute  bearing, 
all  gave  evidence  of  his  sterling  qualities.  All 
through  his  college  years  he  was  known  among 
his  fellows  as  a  dreamer.  His  was  one  of  those 
aloof — almost  morbidly  solitary  natures,  to 
whom  contact  with  the  world  would  seem  jarring 
and  out  of  key.  The  boys  had  nicknamed  him 
"Solitaire."  He  had  a  womanly  delicacy  in  mor- 
als, his  sense  of  honor  was  as  clean  and  bright  as 
a  soldier's  sword. 

Those  who  knew  him  well  loved  him,  and  all 
[30] 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  31 

of  his  school  fellows  sought  for  his  notice,  the 
more,  perhaps,  because  he  gave  it  rarely. 

Whenever  he  played  with  them,  it  was  as  one 
who  unconsciously  granted  a  favor.  He  was 
looked  upon  as  a  man  who  would  be  a  sharer  in 
the  talents  of  his  race.  This  was  his  ambition. 
He  had  strong  literary  tastes  and  was  a  serious 
worker. 

Often  he  champed  at  the  bit  through  the  slow 
routine  of  college  life — the  genius  within  him 
thirsting  for  action  like  a  spirited  horse,  just  in 
sound  of  the  chase. 

After  the  exercises  that  night,  the  pretty  faces 
and  scent  of  roses  filled  the  chapel  with  light  and 
fragrance.  Everything  was  in  warm  confusion, 
congratulations  blended  with  tender  farewells 
and  honest  promises  that  youth  was  sure  to 
break. 

Glenn  Andrews,  with  the  dignity  that  went 
well  with  his  cap  and  gown,  was  making  his 
way  out.  The  tenor  touched  him  on  the  shoul- 
der. 


32  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"What  did  you  think  of  that  violin  solo?" 

"Fine,  my  boy,  fine!  She  played  just  before 
my  turn,  and  she  must  have  been  my  inspiration, 
for  I  was  surprised  to  get  the  medal." 

"I'm  jolly  glad  you  got  it  anyhow." 

"Did  you  find  out  who  she  was?" 

"Esther  Powel.  Her  grandfather  is  a  friend  of 
Professor  Stark.  He  did  it  to  give  her  a  chance." 

"Well  she  used  it  for  all  it  was  worth,"  said 
Andrews. 


CHAPTER  V. 

ESTHER  was  standing  by  the  rim  of  a  clear 
pool  in  the  woods,  gazing  down  into  the  water. 
Her  big  hat  was  weighted  with  cockle  blooms 
that  she  had  gathered  in  coming  through  the 
wheat.  In  this  natural  mirror  she  could  see  that 
a  stem  here  was  too  long,  another  there  was 
turned  the  wrong  way  to  look  well.  With  both 
hands  to  her  head  she  was  intent  upon  regulating 
the  effect  to  please  her  eye.  Turning  her  head 
first  to  one  side,  then  another,  she  smiled  at  her- 
self, impulsive,  always  in  motion,  quick  as  a 
wren.  The  water  was  so  clear  that  one  could  see 
the  last  year's  leaves  lying  at  its  depths,  It  was 
deep  and  sloped  toward  the  center.  Inverted  at 
would  look  like  a  mound  where  children  are  told 

[33] 


34  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

that  Indians  are  buried,  when  the  one  can  think 
of  no  other  excuse  for  its  grave-like  appearance. 
This  pool  went  by  the  name  of  "Indian  Well." 
Esther  had  no  thought  but  that  she  was  alone, 
until  she  saw  an  image,  a  serious  young  face,  re- 
flected there,  with  soft,  brown  beard  and  hair, 
and  deep  eyes  that  wore  a  languid,  meditating 
look.  He  stooped  and  dipped  his  curved  hand 
into  the  surface  and  was  raising  it  to  his  lips. 
Suddenly,  instinctively,  she  bounded  to  his  side, 
dashing  the  water  from  his  hands  before  he  could 
drink. 

T'Don't  you  know  there  is  fever  in  it?" 

For  a  moment  he  looked  at  her  in  wonder. 

"The  fever,"  he  repeated,  "what  do  you 
mean?" 

"The  germs  of  typhoid — I  thought  everybody 
knew  that." 

"But  you  see  I  am  not  everybody,"  he  an- 
swered, laughing. 

She  looked  at  every  feature  of  his  face.  "But 
didn't  you  feel  like  it  the  other  night?" 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  35 

This  surprised  him  so  that  he  had  not  made 
an  answer  when  she  went  on:  "Everybody  who 
has  died  of  typhoid  fever  around  here  drank 
water  out  of  'Indian  Well.'  This  is  where  they 
got  the  germ." 

"I  was  never  here  before.  You  'are  very  good 
to  warn  me."  He  looked  at  her  and  she  seemed 
so  sweet  and  beautiful  as  she  stood  there,  be- 
tween him  and  danger.  Whether  real  or  im- 
agined, her  motive  was  the  same. 

"Is  your  home  near  by?" 

"I  live  with  my  grandpa  in  the  white  house  on 
the  road  as  you  came  up." 

"I  didn't  come  by  the  road;  I  came  through 
by  the  wood-path  from  the  Curtises.  I'm  spend- 
ing the  summer  there.  What  a  pity  this  lovely 
spot  is  poisoned,  I  am  sorry;  I  might  see  you 
here  again  but  for  that.  It  makes  a  pretty  tryst," 
he  said. 

"Sorry?  Why?  You  don't  know  me." 

This  pleased  him.    He  had  found  a  refreshing 


36  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

creature.  At  the  outset  he  had  thrilled  at  the 
prospect. 

"Don't  I?  You  played  once  where  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  hearing  you.  Your  name  is  Esther — 
Esther  Powel." 

"Yes,  and  I  have  seen  your  face  before  I  saw 
it  in  the  water.  They  called  you  'Glenn  An- 
drews' when  they  gave  you  the  medal." 

She  slowly  looked  him  over  from  head  to 
foot,  and  smiled  as  if  in  a  trance  of  joy.  It  was 
all  so  wonderful,  so  strange — this  hero's  coming. 

"But  I  am  still  ahead.  You  will  never  see  me 
win  laurels  again,  perhaps,  and  I  expect  to  hear 
you  play,  many  times." 

"Don't  be  sure.  It's  no  use  for  me  to  play. 
People  don't  seem  to  care  whether  they  hear  it 
or  not.  I  play  for  myself,  because  the  sounds 
from  my  violin  seem  to  express  what  I  feel." 

"But  suppose  I  care?" 

"Then  I  will  play  for  you  sometime,  if  we 
should  meet  again." 

"When  could  I  get  in  your  way?" 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  37 

"Most  any  time." 

"Will  you  be  home  all  summer?" 

"Yes,  and  winter,  too."  She  laughed  at  his 
question. 

"Let  us  sit  down  and  rest  a  while  together.  I 
want  to  talk  over  the  pleasure  that  is  in  store  for 
me." 

Little  did  he  think  as  she  agreed,  and  they  sat 
down  on  an  old  log,  how  much  in  later  life  and 
amidst  different  scenes,  he  was  to  lament  that  cir- 
cumstance. "I  have  always  loved  the  country. 
It  is  so  true,  so  beautiful;  I  love  it  from  the  bot- 
tom of  my  heart." 

He  lifted  his  face,  drawing  a  deep  breath;  the 
air  was  clean  and  sweet  with  the  scent  of  grow- 
ing things. 

"Everything  is  beautiful  that's  natural,"  she 
said,  touching  the  beflowered  hat.  I  never  even 
wear  'bought'  flowers,  because  they  are  only 
make-believes.  I  hate  anything  that  is  not  sure- 
enough." 


38  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"It's  a  pretty  idea.  I  wondered  where  you 
found  this." 

"Just  made  it." 

She  seemed  to  have  grasped  a  good  deal  for 
her  years. 

"I  see  you  have  learned  a  way  of  your  own 
in  your  travels." 

"Travels!  I've  never  been  out  of  this  valley, 
but  I  have  grandpa  and  my  mother  and  my 
dreams." 

"Your  mother.  I  heard  that  your  mother  was 
dead,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"She  isn't  as  long  as  I  am  living,"  was  her 
answer. 

Glenn  Andrews  looked  at  her.  There  was  wis- 
dom in  the  sentiment  she  expressed.  All  the 
childishness  had  passed  out  of  her  face. 

He  hesitated,  astonished.  "I  believe  that,  in  a 
sense,"  he  said.  "It  is  my  theory  of  fulfillment. 
What  could  spur  us  to  higher  destinies  than  the 
belief  that  we  were  carrying  out  the  hopes,  the 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  39 

aims  of  someone  we  loved — perpetuating  their 
life  through  our  own!" 

"She  wanted  me  to  be  a  musician,"  Esther  be- 
gan with  a  sudden  dimness  in  her  eyes.  "She 
was  one  until  she  had  rheumatism  in  her  arms. 
I've  strength  and  health  to  build  on,  something 
she  lacked.  My  mother  was  an  invalid  all  her 
life  after  I  was  born." 

"Health  is  the  most  priceless  gift  in  this 
world." 

For  a  time  he  forgot  it  was  near  the  dinner 
hour.  He  was  caught  by  the  witchery  of  the  girl 
and  the  place. 

He  had  expected  to  find  nothing  here  but  soli- 
tude and  shade.  The  adventure  had  been  a  de- 
lightful surprise  to  him. 

As  they  got  up  from  the  log:  "I  shall  expect 
you  to  keep  your  promise  about  the  music.  Are 
you  going  my  way?" 

"No;  mine  is  the  opposite  direction.  I  will 
play  for  you  any  time  because  you  want  to  hear 
me.  Good-bye." 


40  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

Glenn  Andrews  looked  after  her,  as  she  went 
her  way.  Here  was  a  study — a  promise.  All  his 
life  he  had  loved  growth.  Anything  in  the  course 
of  development  delighted  and  inspired  him.  He 
struck  off  up  the  path  that  wound  out  of  the 
woods  into  the  field. 

The  scent  of  high  summer  was  in  the  gold  of 
the  wheat.  Running  his  hands  lightly  over  the 
bearded  sheaves  he  whistled  an  air  that  was  to 
recall  neither  the  genius  that  wrote  it  nor  the 
hopes  of  his  own  work,  but  the  face  of  Esther 
Powel  and  the  friendship  thus  begun,  of  which 
he  would  never  think  lightly  afterward. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  Curtis  home  had  an  ample  territory  over 
which  extended  eight  large  rooms  and  as  many 
half  stories  with  dormer  windows.  The  big  mock 
oranges  locked  antlers  across  the  path  that  led 
from  the  gate  to  the  little  square  porch  where 
the  wood  bees  droned  in  and  out  of  the  nests  they 
had  bored  in  the  wooden  posts. 

Mr.  Curtis  was  a  jovial  man,  round  of  face, 
short  of  stature,  and  given  to  hospitality.  He 
had  been  all  his  days  faithful  to  that  laborious 
outdoor  occupation — farming.  In  his  old  age 
the  prosperous  impression  that  everything  made 
proved  that  he  had  filled  his  place  to  some  ac- 
count. 

Glenn  Andrews,  who  had  been  his  son's  com- 


42  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

rade  in  life,  was  an  honored  guest.  His  vacation, 
usually  spent  in  travel,  had  been  claimed  by  the 
lonely  parents  this  time.  He  was  promised  all 
manner  of  recreations  and  indulgences.  They 
hoped  to  send  him  back  as  hardy  as  an  Indian, 
his  white  face  and  hands  bronzed  as  the  leaves 
in  their  turning.  Broad  hours  and  solitude.  How 
welcome  they  were  to  him!  His  place  was  sacred 
in  this  house,  and  no  one  was  allowed  to  disturb 
or  criticise  him.  He  had  set  apart  a  few  hours 
each  day  for  work.  He  could  not  devote  all  his 
vacation  to  rest  and  pleasure.  It  was  not  his  na- 
ture. A  memory  of  his  strange,  lonely  boyhood 
came  to  him  with  vivid  distinctness,  and  the  ab- 
solute despair,  he  suffered  at  the  possibility  of 
never  being  able  to  achieve  greatness  in  the 
world.  He  wanted  to  see  good  results  in  his  life. 
The  whole  intensity  of  his  spirit  was  bent  on  that 
one  purpose.  The  world  he  would  know,  and  the 
men  that  live  in  it.  His  mind  was  full  of  daring 
conceptions  and  ideals. 
A  wild  grace  permeated  his  personality,  the 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  43 

strong  and  delightful  charm  which  was  to  make 
him  a  conqueror. 

That  morning  Glenn  ate  breakfast  with  the 
family  by  lamplight.  He  went  back  to  his  win- 
dow afterwards  and  watched  the  sun  rise.  At 
this  season  of  the  year  the  beauty  of  Virginia 
was  at  its  height.  He  delighted  from  the  first 
in  the  splendid  scenery  and  moody  weather. 

A  haze  of  purple  mist  was  lifting  slowly  from 
the  mountains  between  whose  heart  the  valleys 
lay.  The  view  was  fresh  with  the  lusty  color  of 
midsummer.  Exquisite  perfumes,  breath  of 
young  corn  and  cut  clover,  came  to  him  and  grew 
sharper  and  sweeter  as  the  dawn  opened  wide. 
In  nature  he  could  see  the  warm  heart  of  life, 
tender,  strong  and  true.  In  the  distance  stretched 
the  wheat  fields  studded  over  with  yellow  shocks, 
waiting  for  harvest-time.  Later,  as  Glenn  An- 
drews passed  out  on  his  way  to  the  woods,  he 
saw  the  lengthening  of  the  table,  the  unusual  hur- 
ry among  the  servants,  which  was  a  sign  that  he 
was  to  have  dinner  that  day  in  a  harvest  home. 


44  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

Wheat  threshing  time  was  on.  This  lover  of  the 
sun,  of  long,  wandering  strolls,  took  the  way  he 
had  not  been.  It  did  not  concern  him  much 
which  way  he  took  to  solitude.  Wherever  they 
met  they  made  friends — he  and  solitude.  They 
were  so  much  alike.  Their  sympathies  were  so 
much  akin.  Both  were  full  of  deep  nature,  dig- 
nity and  intense  self-possession;  they  could  not 
but  find  comforting  good-fellowship.  With  solitude 
he  could  almost  hear  the  voice  of  God,  hear  it 
speaking,  between  him  and  his  hopes.  Returning, 
he  stopped  at  "Indian  Well."  A  long  time  he  sat 
there,  face  to  face  with  his  own  heart  and  brain. 
He  made  notes  at  times  in  a  small  book,  which 
he  kept  always  with  him.  The  class  poet  and 
editor  of  the  college  magazine  had  a  right  to  drop 
into  rhyme  whenever  he  felt  like  it,  even  though 
the  indulgence  might  never  be  known  to  the 
world.  Glenn  Andrews  took  out  his  second  cigar, 
drew  a  whiff  of  its  scent  and  put  it  back  in  his 
pocket.  In  his  self-denial  there  was  the  compensa- 
tion of  looking  forward.  He  smoked  it  that  after- 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  45 

noon  over  his  work.  The  sun  was  striking  aslant 
and  was  not  far  from  setting.  Here  was  a  broad 
hint  to  hurry  if  he  cared  to  see  them  harvesting. 
The  engine  sent  its  shrill  whistlingcall  for  "wheat" 
as  he  leaned  over  the  fence.  Dressed  in  a  hunt- 
ing suit  of  brown  tweed  with  tan  boots  laced 
from  the  ankle  to  the  knee,  his  broad  hat  pulled 
forward  to  shade  his  eyes,  Glenn  Andrews  at- 
tracted notice.  The  field  was  alive  with  toilers 
moving  easily,  swiftly,  leaning  in  a  hundred 
graceful  inclinations;  some  were  loading  their 
wagons,  lifting  and  loosening  their  shocks  with 
a  thrust  of  their  pitch-forks,  others  unloading 
them  beside  the  thresher,  clipping  the  twine  that 
bound  the  bundles  and  making  a  moving  bridge 
of  beaten  gold  as  they  fed  it.  The  heated  engi- 
neer, with  his  oil-can,  stood  at  the  head  of  the 
monstrous  steam  horse  that  had  never  lost  its 
mysterious  power  to  charm  the  negro. 

Tagger  often  stopped  to  stare  and  wonder. 
The  machinery  belt,  smooth  and  glittering  like 
a  broad  satin  ribbon,  industriously  turning  on 


46  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

great  wheels,  made  him  dance,  barefooted  over 
the  stubble,  to  the  music  of  its  motion.  Little 
imps,  such  as  he,  counted  this  day  of  the  year  a 
holiday  high  above  all  others  they  had  ever 
known. 

The  mule  that  was  driven  with  a  long  lasso  un- 
der the  straw  as  it  fell  had  a  half-dozen  or  more 
children  to  pull  every  time  it  went  to  the  stack. 
In  spite  of  the  dust  and  the  chaff  that  covered 
their  heads  and  half  stifled  them,  they  gave  a  wild 
dart  and  leaped  upon  the  heap  as  it  was  hauled 
away.  Sometimes  the  wind  took  a  whirl  and 
scattered  the  straw,  niggers  and  all  broadcast 
along  the  field.  Glenn  Andrews'  heart  beat 
lightly,  the  air  thrilled  with  sounds,  the  music 
of  the  harvesters  and  the  hum  of  the  thresher. 
There  is  nothing  like  life  under  the  open  heaven, 
he  knew.  Glenn  was  a  gypsy  by  nature. 

"How  is  it  turning  out?"  he  asked,  coming  up 
to  Mr.  Curtis,  who  was  counting  the  loaded 
wagons  that  were  filled  with  sacks  of  wheat,  start- 
ing off  to  be  stored. 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  47 

"Very  good;  the  yield  is  something  like  six- 
teen bushels  to  the  acre.  I'll  have  about  eighteen 
hundred  altogether."  Glenn  Andrews  looked  up 
and  saw  a  figure  coming  across  the  stubble — 
one  that  stood  out  in  delicate  relief,  slimmer, 
shapelier  than  the  rest.  She  was  all  in  white; 
Mr.  Curtis  saw  her,  too. 

"Here  comes  the  fly-up-the-creek,"  he  said. 
"She  looks  like  a  hearse  horse  with  all  those 
elder  blooms  on  her  head."  His  speech  had  no 
touch  of  spitefulness. 

"I  like  her  way;  she  is  as  wild  and  lawless  as 
the  wind,  and  as  free."  Glenn  Andrews  never 
thought  or  spoke  of  Esther  without  defense. 

"Yes,  and  as  sprightly  as  they  make  'em," 
Mr.  Curtis  began.  "She  never  went  to  school  a 
day  in  her  life.  Her  mother  taught  her,  and 
her  grandpa  reads  to  her.  But  play  the  fiddle 
— she  can  play  it  to  beat  the  band.  She  just 
took  it  up  first.  She  could  catch  any  tune. 
A  teacher  came  along  about  two  years  ago 
who  knew  a  little  about  the  fiddle.  Mr. 


48  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

Campbell  is  very  poor  now.  He  let  the  lady 
board  with  him  to  give  Esther  lessons  while  she 
was  teaching  in  the  district.  She  would  not  prac- 
tice, they  say,  but  you  never  saw  anybody  learn 
like  she  did  without  it." 

"What  a  pity  she  hasn't  a  chance  to  keep  on." 

"Yes,  but  she  never  will.  The  old  man  is  fail- 
ing; I  don't  know  what's  to  become  of  her  when 
he's  gone.  He  worries  over  not  being  able  to 
give  her  a  musical  education.  You'd  never  think 
it,  he  is  so  quiet  about  it." 

"Has  she  no  near  relatives  who  would  take  her 
and  help  her  to  get  a  start?" 

"Only  one,  a  nephew  of  the  old  man,  but  he 
married  a  plain,  common  woman.  His  mar- 
riage was  a  shock  to  the  family.  If  his  was  made 
in  heaven,  as  some  folks  believe  in,  I  say  the  Lord 
had  a  grudge  against  him.  He  started  out  with 
fine  prospects,  but  he's  had  a  lot  of  trouble.  It 
looks  like  some  folks  can't  have  anything  but 
trouble  and  children.  He  has  a  family  of  six. 
He  ain't  more  than  thirty. 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  49 

Glenn  took  a  deep  breath. 

"With  such  a  weight  as  that  it  is  no  wonder  he 
is  sore.  I  wish  the  child  did  have  some  way  to 
escape  such  a  future.  With  a  talent  like  hers  she 
could  rise  above  the  minor  cares.  The  world  al- 
ready has  enough  ill-paid  drudges." 

With  this  he  left  Mr.  Curtis  to  meet  Esther. 

"Can  you  show  us  anything  prettier  than  this 
in  your  cities?"  she  asked.  Looking  about  her 
she  thought  it  made  the  hardiest,  happiest  scene 
in  the  world. 

"No,  I  could  only  show  you  something  differ- 
ent— new;  to  the  average  mind  it  is  unaccus- 
tomedness  that  charms.  I  like  this  because  it 
is  new."  The  world  he  had  known  seemed  im- 
measurably far  off  to  them  as  they  stood  together 
there.  Everything  about  her  touched  him.  Her 
true,  simple  nature,  her  strong,  pure  devotion  to 
her  own  ideals. 

"You  haven't  played  for  me  yet." 

As  he  heard  the  engine  blowing  off  the  steam, 


50  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

he  knew  they  were  rounding  up;  its  work  was 
done. 

"No,  and  you  didn't  want  to  hear  me  as  much 
as  you  made  out;  you  forgot,"  she  said. 

"I  would  like  to  hear  you  this  minute." 

"Then  come  with  me  home." 

"But  look  at  me:  my  face — my  hands — these 
boots." 

Esther  looked  at  him  quickly.  "You  are  vain." 
Slipping  her  hand  in  his,  she  gently  pulled  him  a 
little  way.  "Oh,  come  on,  what  do  you  suppose 
I  care  about  dust.  We  have  soap  and  water." 

He  let  her  have  her  way,  and  allowed  himself 
to  be  led. 

The  sun  hung  low  in  the  sky  as  they  started 
off,  and  was  just  dropping  behind  the  mountains 
when  they  reached  the  house.  Faint  zones  of 
pink  and  pearl  flushed  up,  and  everything  was 
quickened — glorified  by  the  softening  light. 

"I've  got  a  picture  in  my  scrap  book  that  looks 
like  you."  Esther  stared  Glenn  Andrews  full  in 
the  face  as  she  spoke.  "It  is  a  picture  of  Christ." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"I  LIKE  you  in  those  high  boots."  Esther  put 
her  foot  on  the  tip  of  one  of  them  as  she  spoke. 

"It  was  not  so  much  vanity,  as  respect  for  your 
grandfather,  that  made  me  want  to  appear  at  my 
best  when  I  met  him." 

"You  see,  he  didn't  notice  them.  Why  should 
you  care,  anyhow,  if  I  liked  them." 

There  was  a  certain  charm  in  her  contempt  for 
risks  and  consequences.  A  waiter  was  brought 
out  clinking  with  glasses. 

"This  will  not  only  prove  your  welcome,  Mr. 
Andrews,  but  aid  your  digestion  as  well,"  Mr. 
Campbell  said,  as  he  came  out  of  the  hall  to  join 
them. 

Andrews   filled   his   glass   that  yielded   frag- 


52  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

ranee  and  soft  fire.  He  touched  it  to  his  lips. 
"This  is  excellent.  Is  it  some  of  your  own 
make?" 

"The  grapes  came  from  my  vineyard." 
"I  helped  to  make  it — I  strained  it,"  Esther 
interrupted,  "but  I  never  tasted  any  in  my  life." 
Mr.  Campbell  laid  his  hand  on  her  head. 

"This  is  to  you — to  your  art."  Glenn  An- 
drews motioned  to  her,  lifted  his  glass  and  sipped 
the  wine,  slowly  realizing  it  was  beautiful  to 
every  sense.  Esther  stole  into  the  parlor,  and 
was  playing  her  violin  before  they  knew  it.  They 
followed  her  in.  It  was  an  old-time  parlor  with 
black,  carved  furniture,  a  slender  legged  center 
table,  polished  as  smooth  as  a  mirror,  holding  a 
china  vase  of  curious  design,  in  which  leaned 
one  long  stemmed  rose,  as  red  as  the  wine  that 
had  made  their  hearts  large  and  soft.  The  walls 
were  almost  hidden  by  family  portraits  that 
reached  from  the  ceiling  to  the  floor,  set  in  deep 
tarnished  gilt  frames.  The  carpet  had  a  shred  of 
tracery  suggesting  a  design — it  might  have  been 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  53 

only  a  shadow  of  gorgeous  wreaths  that  had 
been  worn  away  by  dear  feet  that  had  long  gone 
— the  whole  faint  impression  still  hallowed  by 
their  tread. 

Esther  loved  her  violin  irregularly.  This  was  a 
time  when  she  really  needed  it.  They  went  in 
very  quietly,  hoping  not  to  interrupt  her.  The 
soft,  tremulous  tones  that  she  had  not  meant  to 
give,  showed  that  she  was  excited,  unnerved. 
Just  as  Glenn  was  about  to  utter  an  apology  for 
the  confusion,  his  face  became  serious  and  silent. 
He  was  peculiarly  sensitive  to  the  influence  of 
the  violin.  He  was  conscious  of  a  dreamy  exal- 
tation, and  the  awakening  of  a  new  enthusiasm. 
The  music  had  burst  into  a  wild,  passionate  ten- 
derness, as  though  she  was  daringly  investing  all 
her  dreams  with  life-throbbing  human  life — the 
tone  fairly  voicing  the  longing  of  her  soul. 

It  was  infinitely  touching,  infinitely  tender.  A 
quick  flush  went  up  to  his  forehead  and  died  out 
again,  as  the  music  trembled  into  stillness,  and 
she  lowered  the  violin,  exhausted. 


54  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"You  must  be  very  proud  of  her,"  Glenn 
turned  to  the  old  man,  "I  think  she  has  a  fu- 
ture." 

"She  ought  to  have  a  chance  for  it,"  said  Mr. 
Campbell.  A  glance  from  Esther's  flushed  face 
to  the  suddenly  compressed  lips  of  her  grand- 
father made  Glenn  understand  that  that  was  as 
near  to  complaint  as  he  ever  came.  He  might 
have  been  impatient  in  his  days  of  strength,  but 
on  the  coming  of  adversity  this  proud  man  had 
learned  to  wait  in  silence.  He  seldom  breathed  a 
syllable  of  the  sorrow  he  bore  on  account  of  his 
hands  being  tied. 

"Practice  is  half  the  battle;  you  ought  to 
spend  hours  at  it  every  day,"  Glenn  said  to  Es- 
ther as  she  tossed  her  head. 

"I  don't  ever  expect  to  study  under  anyone 
again.  What's  the  use  going  half  way  when  I 
know  I  can  never  go  the  other  half?" 

"But  you  will  if  you  only  have  belief  in  your- 
self." 

Mr.  Campbell  was  delighted  as    he    listened. 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  55 

Here  was  someone  interested  in  his  little  girl. 
He  trusted  a  kindliness  so  genuine,  an  interest 
so  evidently  sincere. 

A  child's  soul  is  easily  impressed,  responsive 
to  the  first  panorama  that  passes  before  it.  Mr. 
Campbell  hoped  Glenn  Andrews  would  come 
again. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  next  few  weeks  for  Esther  were  transi- 
tions between  content  and  longing.  The  trees  of 
the  woodland,  that  had  been  her  playfellow,  now 
had  a  rival.  Of  Glenn  Andrews  she  had  made  a 
hero,  a  king.  She  regarded  him  as  a  being  to 
inspire  wonder  and  mystery. 

His  simplest  word  or  gesture  spoke  directly  to 
the  heart. 

They  took  sweet  wood  rambles  together.  He 
had  already  begun  to  realize  that  all  solitary 
pleasures  were  selfish. 

He  rather  looked  forward  to  their  meetings, 
although  he  did  not  let  her  think  they  meant 
much  to  him. 

"When  do  you  want  to  see  me  again?"  was 
[56] 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  57 

usually  his  parting  question.  If  she  said  "to- 
morrow," he  could  not  come  until  the  next  day, 
or  later.  To  her  it  seemed  that  he  took  a  pride 
in  finding  out  when  she  most  wanted  to  see  him 
— only  to  stay  away  at  that  particular  time.  He 
held  himself  aloof — gave  her  room  to  expand. 
Hers  was  a  nature  artistic  to  a  painful  degree — 
a  nature  nobly  expansive. 

But  within  the  limit  of  the  country,  amid  en- 
tirely commonplace  people,  her  power  of  artistic 
perception  had  been  of  little  value — rather  a  bur- 
den than  a  delight. 

One  day,  after  she  had  urged  Glenn  Andrews 
to  go  with  her  to  where  they  would  have  a  pretty 
view  of  a  mountain  waterfall,  he  had  refused,  and 
she  had  gone  alone.  It  was  a  long  stroll,  but  she 
was  thirsting  to  see  it.  She  resented  his  refusal, 
and  so  had  gone  alone.  Glenn  watched  her  out 
of  sight,  then  went  back  to  his  writing.  He  was 
doing  some  of  his  strongest  and  most  vigorous 
work. 

Esther  reached  the  mountain  side,  and  stood  a 


58  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

little  way  back  to  keep  the  spray  from  wetting 
her  dress.  The  breath  of  it  was  refreshing.  She 
took  a  pride  in  the  mighty  roar  of  the  falls. 

Its  voice  sounded  so  strong,  so  real.  Its  com- 
manding majesty  held  her.  She  repeated  a  name, 
its  echo  was  drowned.  Flowers,  ferns,  great 
rocks,  everything  in  its  track  was  treated  to  the 
same  reckless  inconsideration.  Only  the  mist 
rose  higher  and  higher  as  though  it  would  regain 
the  height  it  lost  when  the  waters  made  the 
mighty  leap,  and  dashed  its  very  heart  to  pieces 
on  the  stones  below. 

How  she  gloried  in  the  daring  of  the  mist.  It 
was  so  light,  and  thin,  and  quiet,  but  in  its  very 
silence  there  seemed  to  be  strength. 

It  was  gaining  slowly,  but  she  cheered  it  as  she 
saw  it  ascending,  her  eyes  gleaming  with  ex- 
citement as  she  watched  it.  "I  know  you'd  like 
to  slide  down  the  falls."  A  hand  was  laid  upon 
her  shoulder. 

"I'd  rather  go  up  with  the  mist,"  she  answered 


As  The  Hart  Pant  elk.  59 

Glenn  Andrews,  as  thongh  she  was  neither  sur- 
prised nor  pleased  by  his  sudden  arrival. 

"I  got  through  my  work  earlier  than  I  ex- 
pected," he  began.  "When  they  told  me  how  far 
it  was,  I  thought  it  would  be  too  late  for  you  to 
come  home  alone." 

If  he  expected  her  to  thank  him  for  the  con- 
sideration, he  was  disappointed.  The  wind  that 
the  falls  generated  had  blown  some  of  the  waves 
of  her  hair  across  her  face.  She  carelessly 
brushed  it  back  with  her  hands.  A  strand  of  re- 
bellious hair,  that  seemed  unmanageable,  she 
pulled  out  and  threw  away. 

"Stop  that."  Glenn  tapped  her  fingers  lightly. 
"Haven't  I  told  you  not  to  do  that?  It's  a  crime 
to  ill  use  such  hair  as  yours." 

Esther  obeyed  him,  but  could  not  resist  the 
impulse  to  say:  "You  may  look  like  Christ,  but 
you  can  act  like  the  devil." 

She  saw  him  drop  his  head  and  walk  a  few 
steps  away. 


60  As  The  Hart  Pan  f elk. 

"You  might  as  well  have  come  on  with  me  if 
you  were  coming  anyhow." 

He  did  not  look  at  her. 

"I  told  you  I  would  come,  if  you  would  wait 
until  to-morrow.  It  was  a  poem  for  you  I  wanted 
to  finish." 

Esther  went  to  his  side,  penitent;  the  act  had 
lost  its  sharp  outlines  to  her. 

"The  words  that  you  said  someone  would  set 
to  music  for  me?" 

"Yes." 

"Let  me  see  them,  won't  you?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"Oh,  do;  I'm  wild  to  read  them."  Her  eyes 
lost  their  unconcern  as  she  pleaded. 

"You  know  I  am  in  earnest  when  I  say  that 
you  will  not  have  that  pleasure.  What's  the  use 
teasing?" 

He  was  drumming  on  a  rock  with  his  boot 
heel,  as  he  leaned  against  a  shrub.  The  stream 
that  caught  the  waterfall  laughed  and  lathered 
over  its  rocks  as  it  flowed  beside  them.  They 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  6r 

were  of  the  most  delicate  tintings,  pale  lavenders, 
green,  and  pink  and  blue.  Glenn  Andrews  was 
gazing  at  them. 

"Did  you  ever  see  such  pretty  shades  as  the 
rocks  of  mountain  regions  take  on?  I've  often 
wondered  what  caused  their  coloring." 

With  an  aggrieved  air,  Esther  allowed  the 
drift  of  interest  to  turn  at  his  bidding. 

"I  supposed  rocks  were  alike  the  world  over." 

"That's  because  you  only  know  your  own 
beautiful  ones;  some  day  you'll  see  the  ugly  ones; 
then  you  needn't  bother  to  wonder  what  made 
them  so.  Just  kick  them  out  of  the  way  and 
forget  them." 

"Is  that  what  you  do?" 

"Yes,  when  they  are  not  too  big  for  me." 

"I  don't  like  the  hurt,  when  I  stump  my  toe  on 
these  pretty  ones.  It  teaches  me  to  go  around 
all  I  can.  The  jagged  ones  that  I  meet  some 
day  needn't  think  of  being  disturbed,  if  I  can  get 
around  them." 


62  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"But  sometimes  they  block  the  road,  what 
then?" 

"I'd  get  somebody  to  help  me  over." 

"I  hope  you  will  have  that  good  luck  all  your 
days,  Esther." 

Glenn  Andrews'  voice  had  a  minor  sweetness. 
The  thought  of  contrasting  her  vagrant  child- 
hood with  the  world  she  must  one  day  know, 
was  singularly  pathetic  to  him. 

Stooping,  he  picked  up  a  rock  and  cast  it  across 
the  waters. 

"Yes,"  she  said;  "I  was  always  lucky,  that's 
how  grandpa  came  to  call  me  'God's  child.'  " 

"We'd  better  go  now;  it  must  be  a  good  three 
mile  walk."  Glenn  Andrews  took  particular 
care  to  note  her  mood  as  they  went  along,  the 
wild  charm  of  her  unstudied  grace,  the  vibrating 
delight  of  life.  How  much  happier  she  was  than 
if  she  had  had  her  way. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IT  was  the  next  Saturday  before  Glenn  went 
again  to  see  Esther.  Mr.  Campbell  entertained 
him  on  the  verandah.  He  sat  some  time,  expect- 
ing every  minute  to  see  Esther  come  bounding 
out.  Her  grandfather  looked  so  worn  when  he 
came  that  Glenn  felt  it  a  sort  of  imposition  to  al- 
low him  to  talk  long.  Although  their  topic  was 
of  deep  interest,  his  shriveled  features  seemed  to 
smooth  out  as  Glenn  told  him  how  rapidly  Esther 
had  advanced  that  summer. 

"It  is  remarkable,"  he  said,  "how  she  can  take 
a  piece  and  master  it  by  herself.  What  she  most 
needs  is  encouragement*;  some  one  to  keep  her 
interested  and  stimulated." 

"I  had  hoped  to  let  her  have  lessons  under  the 

[63] 


64  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

professor  at  the  University  this  year.  It  had 
been  my  calculation  a  long  time  until  she  was 
taken  sick  with  fever.  The  haggard  look  came 
back  to  his  face.  The  doctor  fears  it  will  go  into 
typhoid." 

"You  don't  mean  that  Esther  is  sick  now?" 
Glenn  stammered. 

"She  took  to  her  bed  the  same  evening  she 
came  back  from  the  falls  and  hasn't  been  up 
since." 

"I  didn't  know  a  word  of  it.  I  should  have 
been  over  if  I  had  known.  I  should  have  come 
at  once  to  see  if  I  could  do  anything  to  help  either 
of  you." 

Glenn's  steady  mouth  trembled.  A  tumult  of 
memories  crowded  upon  him.  He  thought  of 
the  Indian  Well,  where  their  lives  first  came  to- 
gether. Suppose  she  had  breathed  in  the  germs 
that  day  when  she  tried  to  protect  him. 

"Let  me  stay  and  help  you  nurse  her,  Mr. 
Campbell,  "you  look  tired  and  need  rest.  I  am 
so  strong  and  I  have  no  ties  to  call  me  away." 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  65 

"You  are  very  kind;"  the  rest  was  left  un- 
spoken, for  a  hand  was  laid  on  his  arm.  Mr. 
Campbell  made  his  expression  excuse  his  ab- 
sence as  he  turned  and  followed  the  negro  girl. 

Presently  when  he  came  back  Glenn  got  up 
hastily. 

"Is  she  worse?" 

"No,  she  wanted  to  know  if  it  was  not  your 
voice  that  she  heard." 

"May  I  see  her,  if  it  is  not  asking  too  much?" 

His  face  was  full  of  sorrow  as  the  old  man 
bowed  and  led  the  way.  "She  wanted  to  see 
you." 

Esther's  eyes  were  closed;  her  head  lay  deep  in 
the  pillow,  the  waves  of  her  hair  flowing  back 
from  the  whiteness  of  her  face.  "Esther,"  he 
whispered  very  softly.  She  opened  her  eyes  and 
her  lips  broke  in  a  smile.  He  held  out  both 
hands  toward  her  and  caught  hers  in  their  double 
grasp,  looking  down  in  her  face. 

"How  are  you?     I  didn't  know  until  this  min- 


66  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

ute  that  you  were  not  well.  I  came  to  take  you 
to  the  one  place  we've  never  been,"  he  told  her. 

"I  thought  maybe  you  had  come  to  help  me 
over  the  rock."  She  smiled  faintly. 

"Well,  be  very  quiet;  don't  worry  about  any- 
thing; we'll  do  all  that  for  you.  You  know  you 
promised  to  play  the  piece  you  learned  last  week 
for  me.  Let's  see,  it  was  to  be  at  the  spring;  that 
was  as  close  as  we  dared  venture  to  Indian  Well, 
where  we  met." 

"Don't  give  me  out."  Her  voice  was  weak 
and  low.  "I  expect  to  do  that  for  your  farewell; 
you  must  get  back  to  college  in  time." 

"How  do  you  know  but  that  I  had  rather  be 
detained;  don't  run  any  risk."  This  seemed  to 
please  her. 

"Is  this  better  than  the  other  life — the  life 
among  your  friends?" 

"This  is  sweeter,  for  I  am  looking  forward  to 
a  lifetime  with  the  world."  She  smiled  and 
turned  her  head  to  rest  it  from  the  one  position 
she  had  kept  too  long. 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  67 

"It  will  be  a  year  before  the  world  can  get  you; 
I  am  glad  you  have  decided  to  take  another  de- 
gree, although  you  seem  to  know  enough  al- 
ready." 

"I  know  enough  to  realize  just  how  little  I  do 
know,  but  the  special  course  along  lines  that  I 
am  going  to  make  my  lifework  is  all  that  I  shall 
try  to  master  yet.  Everything  has  its  turns;  I'll 
learn  it  all  in  time,  I  hope." 

"And  then  you'll  be  great." 

"More  likely  dead." 

"Most  great  people  are."  Her  lips  suddenly 
quivered. 

"You  take  it  slow.  I  couldn't  bear  to  think 
of  your  dying." 

"You  are  talking  too  much  now.  You  and 
your  grandpa  take  a  rest.  You  both  need  it." 

"He  must  be  tired  after  five  nights  and  days, 
but  you  are  company.  We  can't  both  leave  you 
at  once." 

"I'll  play  host  now;  go  to  sleep.  I'll  be  with 
you  all  the  time." 


68  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"Grandpa,  lie  down  over  there  on  the  lounge." 

When  he  had  humored  her  she  cuddled  down 
contentedly  and  went  to  sleep. 

With  a  ministering  tendernless,  Glenn  kept 
watch  over  her. 

Typhoid  fever  was  full  of  terrors  to  him.  He 
hoped  that  her  fever  was  only  due  to  the  cold 
she  had  taken  at  the  falls. 

It  was  very  penetrating.  He  had  ached  a  little 
afterward  and  thought  it  was  from  being  saturat- 
ed with  the  dampness  that  day.  Suppose  the 
fear  in  her  case  was  true.  All  that  beautful  hair 
would  have  to  be  shaved  off.  He  jealously  re- 
sented this,  caressing  her  hair  as  he  looked  at  it. 
The  doctor  came  later  and  said  her  condition  was 
better  and  that  she  would  be  out  in  a  few  days. 

Glenn  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  He  would  stay 
during  those  few  days. 


CHAPTER  X. 

SWINGING  her  violin  case  by  the  handle,  Es- 
ther started  off  through  the  cornfield,  stopping 
now  and  again  to  pull  a  spray  of  morning  glories 
that  wreathed  around  the  stalks  to  the  tips  of 
their  tassels.  By  the  time  she  got  in  sight  of  the 
Curtis  house  there  were  many  of  these  branches 
trailing  over  her.  It  was  still  early.  The  heavy 
dew  had  dampened  the  dust  on  her  shoes.  She 
tried  to  brush  it  off  with  the  leaves  she  had  gath- 
ered, then  bunching  the  blossoms  of  bright  color 
together  she  fastened  them  on  her  breast. 

Just  as  she  walked  up  Tagger  was  seated  on 
the  steps  of  the  back  porch,  getting  Glenn  An- 
drews' boots  in  order  for  him.  "Let  me  have  the 
brush  a  minute."  Esther  took  the  brush,  leaned 

[69] 


70  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

over  and  cleaned  the  mud  off  of  her  own  shoes. 
Then  she  took  up  one  of  the  boots  and  began  to 
polish  it.  A  thrill  of  delight  leaped  through  her  at 
the  thought.  She  was  working  for  him.  When 
she  put  it  down  the  boot  looked  fresher  and  glos- 
sier than  it  could  ever  look  under  Tagger's  care. 
There  was  a  sniffling  sound  and  Esther  looked 
behind  her.  Tagger  stood  scouring  in  his  eyes 
with  his  shining  fists,  his  small  body  quivering 
with  sobs. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?" 

"You'll  git  my  money,"  he  said  through  his 
gasps. 

"Well,  for  heaven's  sake!  you  little  scamp,  I 
don't  want  your  nickel." 

"'Tain't  no  nickel,"  he  blurted  out.  "He  gim- 
me a  quarter  for  turnin'  de  cartwheel  and  stand- 
in'  on  my  head.  Dat  warn't  work;  dat  was  play." 

Esther's  voice  echoed  through  the  halls. 
When  she  stopped  laughing,  she  said:  "You  poor 
little  mite,  I  hope  he  will  give  you  the  half  of  his 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  71 

kingdom.  Here,  take  the  brush  and  earn  your 
fortune." 

As  Tagger  took  up  the  other  boot,  to  finish  it, 
Esther  unclasped  the  bunch  of  morning  glories 
and  tied  them  at  the  top  of  the  one  she  had  pol- 
ished. Seeing  nothing  of  Glenn,  and  passing  a 
word  with  Mrs.  Curtis  who  was  busy  in  the  din- 
ing room,  she  went  out  to  the  flower  garden. 
About  her  in  riotous  health  and  beauty  grew 
flowers  that  gave  no  evidence  of  care.  There 
was  a  suggestion  of  wilfulness  everywhere.  The 
sun  had  not  been  up  long.  It  was  splashing  its 
rays  in  the  face  of  the  great,  slumbering  moun- 
tains like  spray  on  the  face  of  a  sluggard.  Glenn 
walked  up  behind  Esther  as  she  bent  over  a  white 
rosebush  in  the  heyday  of  its  blooming. 

"You  did  not  waste  time  waiting  for  me. 
This  is  worth  seeing.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

As  her  face  raised  to  his,  how  pure  and  radiant 
it  looked.  The  purity  was  heightened  by  the 
flush. 

"Oh,  if  I  could  only  do  to  them  as  I  want  to." 


72  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

She  stretched  her  arms  and  brought  them  togeth- 
er with  a  sigh.  "I'd  like  to  hold  them  close  and 
love  them  as  hard  as  I  could;  then  I'd  be  satis- 
fied." 

"You'd  crush  them,  break  their  stems  and  pay 
the  penalty  of  indulgence  by  pricking  those  arms 
of  yours  by  the  wretched  little  briars  hidden  un- 
der the  beauty  that  you  would  spoil,"  he  said, 
sharply. 

He  wanted  her  to  see  a  lesson  in  this. 

"That's  the  way  with  life,"  he  said,  watching 
her  break  off  one  of  the  buds  which  she  put  in 
his  coat. 

"Come  on.  You  have  got  enough.  I  must 
leave  by  two  o'clock." 

"I've  been  ready  longer  than  you — my  violin 
is  on  the  porch.  We  can  go  by  there  to  get  it." 

At  the  start  Glenn  saw  that  Esther  looked  very 
radiant,  but  suddenly  the  look  of  exaltation  faded 
from  her  face.  He  did  not  understand  her  mood. 

Generally  she  enjoyed  what  he  recalled  to  her, 
visible  or  invisible,  with  the  most  exquisite  feel- 


As  The  Hart  Pantetk.  73 

ing.  He  dearly  loved  that  trait  in  her.  This 
was  not  one  of  her  receptive  moods.  She  did 
not  seem  to  know  when  they  got  to  the  spring. 

He  indulged  in  an  indolent  sprawl  upon  the 
grass,  and  she  dropped  down  on  the  roots  of  a 
tree  by  his  side.  He  was  an  ideal  lounger.  That 
was  sufficient  contentment  for  awhile.  He  was 
trying  to  think  it  out  without  asking  her. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  said  at  last.  "Have  I 
hurt  you — displeased  you?"  That  passive  gen- 
tleness of  manner  was  rarely  changed.  "Won't 
you  tell  me?"  He  placed  his  hand  softly  over 
hers  that  lay  on  the  ground.  Her  lashes,  deli- 
cate in  their  tinting,  beat  together,  struggling  to 
catch  the  tears  that  tried  to  overflow.  She  pulled 
away  her  hand  and  started  to  rise.  The  child's 
heart  was  almost  breaking  and  the  rebellious 
tears  that  came,  hot  and  fast,  were  dashed  away 
by  little,  mad  hands. 

"Oh,  Esther,  have  I  hurt  you?  Don't,  don't! 
I'd  rather  you  would  strike  me — anything  but 
that."  He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  bent  over  her, 


74  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"Are  you  disappointed  in  me.  Have  you  found 
too  many  flaws?  Is  it  because  I  must  go  away?" 
His  soft,  sad  eyes  regarded  her  uneasily.  "If  I 
am  the  cause,  haven't  I  a  right  to  know?" 

"You  oughtn't  to  have  to  be  told,"  she  said, 
with  shamed  frankness,  when  she  could  com- 
mand her  voice. 

"If  I  had  meant  to,  I  wouldn't;  that  is  my  justi- 
fication." 

He  touched  her  hair.  "Come,  this  isn't  you — 
I  always  liked  that  straightforward  way  of  yours. 
Don't  spoil  our  last  day.  Tell  me,  what's  the 
matter?" 

"That's  what  stings — you  not  only  thought 
little  enough  of  them  to  throw  them  away;  you 
forgot  it." 

There  was  a  complaining  note  in  her  voice. 
It  was  less  anger  than  grief  she  felt.  Her  head 
had  the  plaintive  droop  of  a  spoiled  child  asking 
consolation. 

"Do  you  mean  the  flowers  on  my  boot;  is 
that  all?"  Slipping  one  hand  in  his  pocket  and 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  75 

pulling  out  a  few,  bruised,  draggled  morning 
glories.  An  expression  of  joy  flashed  over  her 
wet  face.  A  faint,  amused  gleam  shot  into  his 
serious  eyes. 

"Tagger  used  them  for  a  handle,  and  I  thought 
their  condition  decided  in  favor  of  pressing 
rather  than  wearing.  I  saved  the  pieces  you  see." 

"They  were  all  the  color  of  my  dreams — I 
couldn't  help  but  think  that  was  the  way  they 
would  go  some  day." 

"If  I  can  help  it,  they  won't." 

Taking  out  a  notebook  he  dropped  the  flowers 
between  its  leaves.  Her  girlish  illusions  were 
dear  to  him.  He  wouldn't  destroy  one  of  them. 

"Here,  let  me  get  your  violin.  Play  for  me, 
while  I  smoke." 

She  took  it  from  him,  and  he  began  smoking, 
as  she  played  for  him  the  piece  he  had  asked 
her  to  learn.  He  could  see  the  confidence  she 
had  gained  in  herself.  Patience  was  all  that  she 
lacked. 


76  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"There  is  yet  another  one  I  want  you  to  learn 
for  me." 

"What's  the  use?  I  may  never  see  you  again.  I 
don't  know  that  I'll  worry  with  it." 

The  thought  of  his  going  away  met  with  re- 
sentment in  her.  She  did  not  like  to  picture  life 
with  his  companionship  withdrawn. 

"Fiddledee  humbug!  I  expect  to  see  you 
again  lots  of  times.  Maybe  I'll  spend  Christmas 
day  with  the  Curtises.  I  might  come  over  awhile 
at  that  time  if  you  would  ask  me.  I  am  not  going 
home  just  for  a  day.  New  York  State  is  too  far." 

"I  couldn't  divide  you,  I  want  the  whole  day 
or  nothing."  Esther  leaned  her  elbow  on  the 
violin  case. 

"I  remember  the  first  time  I  was  ever  offered 
a  piece  of  a  whole  thing.  I  was  a  very  little  girl. 
I  had  a  china  plate  that  I  always  used  at  my  place 
at  table,  and  one  day  a  boy  broke  it  in  halves 
and  mended  it.  It  had  tiny  green  dots  shaped 
like  a  fence  row  around  it,  and  I  noticed  one 
place  where  the  dots  didn't  fit,  and  then  I  saw 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  77 

where  they  had  pasted  it  together.  A  little  chip 
of  it  was  gone.  It  nearly  broke  my  heart.  They 
all  said  it  was  as  good  as  new,  but  they  couldn't 
make  me  see  it  in  that  way.  What  do  you  sup- 
pose I  did?" 

"There  is  no  telling." 

"It  had  been  the  pride  of  my  life,  but  I  took 
that  plate  out,  and  broke  it  in  pieces  and  strewed 
them  down  the  road  to  cut  his  feet  when  he  came 
by  from  school." 

"Suppose  the  feet  of  others  had  got  the  pun- 
ishment?" 

"I  wasn't  old  enough  to  reason  that  out  then." 

"Some  people  would  have  been  sore  enough 
and  revengeful  enough  not  to  care  if  they  had.  I 
have  known  such  instances,  but  I  can  understand 
that  your  plate  would  never  be  the  same  to  you 
with  a  part  of  it  gone.  I  don't  like  anything  in- 
complete myself." 

"Give  me  the  whole  day — I  want  you  all  the 
time." 


7  8  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"If  you  will  promise  me  to  learn  every  piece  of 
music  that  I  ask  you  to,  I  will." 

"You  haven't  told  the  Curtises  yet  that  you 
were  coming?" 

"No." 

"Well,"  her  voice  was  merry,  "that's  a  bar- 
gain." 

Glenn  Andrews  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Great  Scott!  ten  minutes  to  two.  I  must  go." 

They  stood  for  a  moment  hand  in  hand.  Not 
a  sound  could  be  heard  save  the  water  lisping  in 
the  spring.  He  touched  her  hair.  "Beautiful 
hair!"  he  half  whispered.  "If  it  had  been  cut 
off,  when  you  came  so  near  having  the  fever,  I 
should  have  asked  you  to  give  me  a  curl." 

His  veins  throbbed  with  tenderness — between 
these  two  there  was  a  tie  nearer  than  blood — the 
tie  of  comradeship.  One  couldn't  think  of  rela- 
tions more  subtle  or  pure. 

"Give  me  your  knife,"  she  said. 

Glenn  raised  her  face,  touching  her  chin  gently 
with  the  tips  of  his  fingers. 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  79 

"No,  no,"  he  said.  "It  is  much  prettier  where 
it  is.  I  wouldn't  let  you  cut  one  off." 

She  turned  and  closed  her  violin  case  with  a 
snap. 


CHAPTER  XL 

WHEN  he  had  gone,  Esther  went  back  to  the 
woods.  The  thought  of  his  coming  with  the 
Christmas  time  kept  her  nature  alive  and  glow- 
ing. Her  interest  in  music  became  more  absorb- 
ing than  ever.  She  practiced  for  hours  at  a 
stretch.  This  exceptional  interest  was  a  triumph 
that  had  given  the  old  grandfather  a  steadier 
balance  of  mind,  when  during  these  years  he 
had  tried  to  fill  her  mother's  place,  nurturing, 
encouraging  the  possibilities  that  lay  in  this 
young  soul,  ennobling,  inspiring  a  deeper  mean- 
ing to  life.  Glenn  Andrews  had  helped  him.  He 
appreciated  that.  They  saw  him  occasionally 
when  they  went  in  to  her  lessons.  Esther  seemed 
to  realize  that  Mr.  Campbell  was  making  a  sacri- 
[80] 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  81 

fice  for  her  sake  and  every  week  the  professor 
could  see  the  forward  step  she  had  made. 

The  college  monthly  same  to  her  regularly 
now.  It  always  had  poems  or  stories  by  Glenn 
Andrews.  All  these  she  preserved.  There  was  a 
sort  of  reverence  in  her  care  of  them.  They 
were  a  part  of  him — his  creations.  In  the  satis- 
faction derived  from  them,  she  became  more  im- 
patient as  to  her  own  imperfections.  The  ripe, 
rich  beauty  of  autumn  trailed  by  in  all  its  glory 
without  the  love  it  once  had  from  her.  Her 
walks  became  less  frequent.  She  felt  a  relief 
when  the  snow  first  fell.  Snow  always  suggested 
Christmas.  She  kept  such  close  watch  that  the 
calendar  was  not  needed  to  tell  her  when  it  was 
near.  In  the  innocence  of  her  heart,  she  pic- 
tured Glenn  Andrews  watching  the  hours  go  by 
with  the  same  impetuous  eagerness — he  who  had 
gone  back  to  his  old  solitary  life,  as  though  noth- 
had  dropped  in  for  a  moment  to  change  it. 

It  was  Christmas.  A  light  snow  lay  over  the 
valley. 


82  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

Esther  wrapped  a  hood  close  about  her  head 
and  walked  back  and  forth  on  the  verandah.  A 
low  wind  among  the  white  boughs  made  a  lullaby 
for  her  longing. 

The  nearer  the  realization,  the  more  impatient 
she  grew. 

At  last  the  sound  of  wheels,  and  the  brisk  step- 
ping of  horses  charmed  her  heart — he  was  com- 
ing. She  heard  the  sound  of  his  voice  as  there 
was  a  halt  at  the  gate. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  is  it,  Mr.  Glenn?" 

"Who  else  did  you  expect?"  asked  Glenn  An- 
drews, stretching  out  his  hand  cordially  to  greet 
her,  enjoying  the  dignity  she  tried  to  assume.  He 
had  speculated  as  to  how  she  would  meet  him. 

The  fire  roaring  up  the  wide  chimney  was 
sweeter  than  music  to  him.  It  had  been  a  cold 
ride.  They  were  so  glad  to  see  him,  Glenn 
thought  it  was  the  next  best  thing  to  going  home. 

"Get  up  close  and  warm  yourself."  Esther 
shivered  at  the  thought  of  his  being  cold. 

"Let  me  have  your  coat,  Mr.  Glenn." 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  83 

"No,  it's  too  heavy;  I'll  lay  it  over  here."  Fold- 
ing it  he  threw  it  across  a  divan  and  drew  his 
chair  up  to  the  fire. 

Esther  leaned  on  the  edge  of  the  mantle,  look- 
ing at  him.  The  wind  had  blown  in  her  hair,  it 
lashed  about  her  face,  and  with  the  old  careless 
gesture  she  tossed  it  back,  impatiently 

"Have  you  been  pulling  that  hair  out  again?" 
said  Glenn,  with  a  sort  of  proprietary  right. 

"No,  but  I've  been  cutting  it  off." 

"You  haven't!"  These  words  held  the  heat  of 
indignation. 

"If  you  don't  believe  it,  I'll  prove  it." 

She  stepped  over  to  him  as  she  drew  something 
from  her  belt  and  pressed  it  in  his  hand. 

"You  know  Christmas  never  came  to  you  from 
me  before."  Just  at  that  minute  Mr.  Campbell 
came  in.  He  settled  himself  in  his  own  rocking 
chair  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  as  though  he  were 
hypnotized  by  the  warmth  of  the  room.  He 
talked  on  and  on,  selecting  topics  upon  which 
neither  seemed  to  have  an  idea.  Esther  had 


84  As  The  Hart  Pantetk. 

made  her  a  lot  of  pillows  out  of  some 
old  silk  dresses  of  quaint  patterns,  and  as  she  sat 
amongst  them,  she  was  almost  afraid  to  breathe 
lest  she  split  them.  They  smelled  very  strongly 
of  tobacco,  having  been  so  long  packed  away 
in  its  leaves. 

Glenn  Andrews  felt  something  soft  and  slim 
between  his  fingers,  but  it  puzzled  him  to  know 
what  the  texture  was.  He  was  restless  with  curi- 
osity. 

Esther  enjoyed  his  perplexity  with  quiet 
amusement,  and  was  sorry  when  after  a  great 
while  her  grandfather  thought  out  for  himself 
that  young  folks  enjoyed  themselves  better  alone. 

Glenn  turned  slyly  to  see  him  close  the  door 
after  him. 

It  was  very  interesting,  this  expectancy;  he  felt 
something  as  he  did  when  a  child  he  had  lain 
awake  all  night  waiting  for  Santa  Claus  to  come. 

His  heart  would  leap  with  impatience  at  every 
sound.  The  old  chimney,  drawing  its  heated 
breath  to  keep  his  little  body  warm,  had  added 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  85 

to  his  irritation.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  wind 
could  cut  more  antics  then  than  a  circus  pony 
cavorting  for  his  feed. 

In  its  sound  he  constantly  fancied  he  could 
hear  the  coming  of  that  old  false  ideal  that  had 
been  the  first  to  fall,  but  it  had  not  fallen  until 
many  a  little  prayer  had  been  answered  and 
many  a  young  dream  been  realized.  Such  ideals 
leave  their  imprint  upon  the  mind.  The  memory 
of  the  joy  it  gave  softens  and  purifies  the  heart 
before  it  awakens. 

Glenn  Andrews  leaned  over  and  opened  his 
hand  to  the  light;  it  was  a  watch  chain,  made  of 
Esther's  hair. 

"That  slide  was  on  a  chain  my  mother  wore," 
she  said. 

The  sentiment  of  it  made  him  feel  that  he 
stood  at  the  white  sanctity  of  her  soul,  with  its 
opening  and  unfathomable  depths. 

He  raised  the  chain  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it 
affectionately.  He  could  not  have  thanked  her 
in  words.  He  realized  that: 


86  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"Sentiment  that  is  real  is  not  acquired — it 
flows  into  the  veins  like  the  breath  of  the  sea 
waves,  completely  freshening  every  sense  with  its 
presence." 

Glenn  took  up  his  overcoat  and  brought  out 
a  music  roll  with  her  name  mounted  in  silver. 

"It  is  full  and  you  are  to  learn  it  all.  That's 
the  agreement."  He  laid  it  open  before  her. 

"The  very  hardest  that  you  could  find." 

"Just  what  you  need." 

Esther  hummed  a  bar  here  and  tl.»re  as  she 
turned  the  pages.  She  was  in  an  ecstacy  of  con- 
tent. A  lilting  joyousness  of  Glenn  Andrews' 
presence  was  in  everything  she  did  and  said. 

They  lingered  over  the  Christmas  dinner.  Mr. 
Campbell  told  yarns  of  the  olden  times  when  he 
was  a  boy  on  that  holiday.  He  took  his  pleasure 
in  their  company  at  the  table,  and  afterwards  left 
them  alone  again. 

They  made  an  exceptionably  cozy  picture,  sit- 
ting together  in  front  of  the  wood  fire.  It  was 
beautiful  to  see  the  snow  outside,  falling  in  tiny 


As  The  Hart  Pantcth.  87 

siftings,  displaced  by  the  snow  birds'  restless 
stirring. 

Glenn  and  Esther  were  so  comfortable.  How 
could  it  be  winter  out  there.  He  smoked  and 
she  read  him  selections  from  his  own  poems — 
the  ones  she  liked  best.  He  had  no  idea  she 
could  read  so  well — it  must  have  been  her  read- 
ing them  that  made  them  sound  better  than  he 
had  ever  thought  them  before.  There  was  a  slow 
unfolding  of  her  woman  nature  as  he  watched 
her.  It  was  almost  imperceptible,  yet  so  much 
surer  than  a  sudden  burst. 

"You'll  keep  on  with  your  lessons?"  he  asked. 

"After  this  year  grandpa  won't  be  able  to 
afford  it." 

"But  it  will  never  do  for  you  to  stop  now.  I 
was  talking  with  the  professor  the  other  day 
about  your  art.  He  is  interested  in  it.  He 
wants  to  study  English;  maybe  he  would  ex- 
change— if  you  could  teach  him.  Do  you  think 
you  could?" 


88  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"What!  I  a  teacher?"  She  clasped  her  hands 
involuntarily.  "But  suppose  he'd  let  me  try?" 

"I'll  see  if  he  will." 

"Oh,  will  you,  sure  enough?"  She  was  now 
seated  closer  by  Glenn,  listening  with  an  ab- 
sorbing interest. 

"When  will  I  know?" 

"There  is  a  lot  of  time  between  now  and  next 
September.  You'll  finish  out  this  year,  of 
course." 

"Oh,  yes,  except  when  the  weather  is  too  bad 
for  grandpa.  He's  getting  old,  you  know." 

Glenn  could  see  how  he  was  failing. 

It  was  about  dusk  when  the  buggy  drove  away 
from  the  front  steps.  The  parting  was  cordial 
and  yet  it  seemed  to  lack  something  for  both. 
Perhaps  grandpa's  being  there  complicated  the 
situation.  Whatever  it  was,  in  both  their  hearts 
there  seemed  something  lacking. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  coming  of  June  brought  an  end  to  col- 
lege life  for  Glenn  Andrews.  He  had  had  a  let- 
ter a  few  days  before,  deciding  an  important 
question — in  fact,  the  question  of  the  greatest 
importance  to  him  just  then.  While  he  was  wait- 
ing for  Esther  he  read  it  over  again: 

"New  York  City. 

"My  dear  Andrews — Of  course  I  hadn't  for- 
gotten my  promise  nor  my  interest  in  you.  It 
seems  a  lifetime  since  I  stood  in  those  priestly 
looking  robes  on  that  old  stage  waiting  to  re- 
ceive my  discharge  and  hustle  or  go  hungry. 
You  were  at  the  foot  then.  I  remember  you; 
a  solemn-faced  chap,  but  mightily  in  earnest 
I  am  glad  that  you  are  at  the  head,  and  ready 

[89] 


90  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

for  the  fight — the  thick  of  it.  I  always  knew 
that  was  the  kind  of  metal  you  were  made  of,  so 
it  does  me  good  to  be  able  to  give  you  a  boost. 
You  are  to  be  associate  editor  of  the  magazine — 
give  up  most  of  your  freedom  and  take  an  edi- 
tor's chair. 

"You  may  come  right  on.  I  wonder  what  you 
will  be  like  after  all  these  years  since  we  cavorted 
over  that  campus.  Yours  fraternally  , 

"Richmond  Briarley." 

What  did  Glenn  care  for  slavery?  His  love 
for  his  profession  would  even  up  scores.  Going 
among  strangers  had  no  depressing  effect  upon 
him.  He  was  singularly  fitted  for  that  kind  of 
thing.  He  believed  that  every  soul  should  be 
alone  a  part  of  its  existence,  away  from  the 
sight,  the  touch  of  affection,  and  seek  deeper 
self  acquaintance  and  understanding.  This  was 
how  he  came  to  cultivate  his  passion  to  know  and 
be  something. 

Now  he  was  going  to  try  his  hand — his  life 
was  to  be  full  of  interest  and  effort,  and  all  the 


As  T/ir  Hart  Panteth.  91 

training  he  had  given  to  his  faculties  were  to  be 
exercised  and  tested.  Esther  joined  him  pres- 
ently to  go  for  their  last  ramble. 

"You  are  to  lead  the  way  anywhere.  I  am 
with  you  to-day,"  he  said. 

Glenn  felt  a  subtle  sadness  at  leaving  her.  This 
human  study  had  been  most  interesting  to 
him,  nor  would  it  be  the  least  of  his  regrets  for 
what  must  be  given  up.  The  others  were  fin- 
ished, he  had  reached  the  last  page. 

During  the  stroll,  Glenn  told  her  that  the  pro- 
fessor had  agreed  to  make  the  exchange  he  spoke 
of  at  Christmas. 

"Now  you  are  to  promise  me  that  you  will 
keep  up  your  art.  Don't  let  circumstances  over- 
whelm you." 

"I  couldn't  keep  from  trying  to  go  on,  if  I 
wanted  to,  but  when  you  get  away  you'll  forget 
about  me." 

"I  don't  think  I  shall." 

He  was  very  calm.  No  matter  what  he 
thought  or  felt,  he  didn't  intend  to  drop  a  word 


92  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

that  might  disquiet  her  mind  or  disturb  their 
tranquil  sense  of  comradeship. 

"I  expect  you  to  do  something  some  day. 
You'll  not  stay  buried  down  here  all  your  life. 
You  were  not  born  for  oblivion." 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  be  disappointed  in  me. 
But  I'll  do  my  best." 

She  looked  down,  pulling  at  the  moss  on  the 
log. 

His  going  so  far  away  was  her  first  great  sor- 
row. 

"I  don't  believe  I  would  though  if  I  didn't  have 
next  summer  to  look  forward  to;  you  said  you 
would  try  to  come  back  then." 

With  her  simplicity  and  daring  directness  she 
added.  "Take  good  care  of  yourself,  Mr.  Glenn, 
for  all  the  world  couldn't  fill  your  place  in  my 
heart." 

"You  think  that  now,  Esther.  You  seem  to 
see  something  complete  in  our  friendship.  It  is 
all  you  want.  A  day  will  come  when  you'll  un- 
derstand that  it  is  not  satisfying.  The  mist  of 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  93 

morning  is  on  the  hills,  and  hides  the  outlines  of 
the  landscape;  you  can  see  but  a  little  way.  After 
awhile  it  will  gradually  lift,  and  give  you  a 
clearer  and  broader  view." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  know  you  can't  see  it  now.  The  ripening 
of  your  nature  will  show  you  the  good  fruit,  and 
of  how  little  use  it  was  to  cry  over  the  pretty 
petals  when  it  dropped  its  bloom. 

She  looked  at  him,  her  lips  parting  as  she 
slowly  grasped  the  drift  of  his  words. 

"Patience  and  faith  are  what  you  must  have." 

"The  patience  I  would  have  to  borrow,  or  steal, 
for  I  never  did  have  any  of  my  own." 

It  was  going  to  be  the  hardest  lesson  for  her 
to  learn. 

She  took  the  knife  he  was  toying  with,  and 
asked  suddenly: 

"Put  your  foot  up  a  minute." 

He  was  wondering  what  she  would  do. 

"I'm  going  to  leave  something  for  you  to  re- 
member me  by." 


94  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

She  began  carefully  to  etch  a  sentence  across 
the  upper  part  of  the  leather. 

"Bear  harder,  cut  it — that  little  scratching 
won't  last — as  long  as  you  are  putting  it  there." 

His  eyes  rested  on  her  hair,  that  lay  like  a 
crown  on  her  bowed  head. 

Slowly  she  cut  each  letter.  "Don't  look  until 
I  get  through." 

The  fine,  sharp  blade  was  doing  its  work  well; 
there  was  just  one  more  word.  She  made  a 
slip  and  the  keen  point  plunged  through.  "Oh, 
did  that  touch  you?"  Suddenly  withdrawing  it 
she  saw  the  blood  leap  out  and  run  down  his 
boot  leg.  Her  eyes  opened  wide;  the  despair  in 
them  was  enough  to  move  him. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Glenn,  what  have  I  done  to  you?" 

"It's  only  a  pin  scratch;  don't  think  of  it."  He 
tried  to  console  and  reassure  her. 

She  began  unwinding  the  soft  mull  tie  she 
wore.  "I  know  you'll  bleed  to  death  if  we  can't 
stop  it." 

He  had  taken    his    boot    off.    With    tender, 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  95 

trembling  fingers  she  was  binding  the  cloth  to  his 
leg,  winding  it  around  again  and  again,  trying 
to  wrap  out  the  sight  of  the  blood. 

It  was  no  use,  in  a  second  the  red  stain  would 
radiate  over  the  white  surface. 

"What  shall  I  do!  oh,  forgive  me,  forgive  me!" 

She  knelt  down  and  pressed  his  knee  in  her 
arms  and  bent  over  it  with  tears,  the  incense 
of  her  love  mingling  with  self-reproach.  Her 
penitence  was  pathetic. 

He  regarded  her  grief  with  compassionate  soft- 
ness. This  came  near  disarming  his  resolve.  He 
wanted  to  take  her  in  his  arms  as  he  had  never 
done  in  his  life.  As  she  held  the  wound  close, 
he  resisted  the  impulse  to  flinch. 

"I'm  all  right,  don't  you  worry." 

He  read  the  line  on  the  boot. 

"I  wouldn't  take  anything  for  that.  It  will 
sweeten  the  absence,  and  I  hope  this  scratch  will 
make  a  scar  that  I  may  wear  all  my  life  to  re- 
member you  by." 

"I'll  never  forgive  myself  for  it — never!" 


96  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"Don't  say  that.  It's  a  little  thing  after  all. 
See,  I  walk  all  right.  Let's  go  home."  Putting 
one  hand  on  her  shoulder  they  started  off,  Es- 
ther watching  every  step  he  took  with  fear  and 
alarm. 

"Are  you  telling  the  truth.  Don't  it  hurt  you 
to  walk?" 

Turning  his  face  away,  he  bit  his  lips. 

"Not  much,  you  know  there  is  always  a  little 
soreness,  no  matter  how  slight  the  cut." 

He  wouldn't  tell  that  the  knee  was  a  very  dan- 
gerous place  to  receive  a  wound. 

All  the  way  the  joint  was  stiffening  and  getting 
more  painful.  His  face  beamed  in  the  effort  to 
conceal  his  suffering.  When  they  reached  the 
steps  he  leaned  his  head  against  a  column;  he 
was  wearied  and  felt  that  he  could  bear  no 
more. 

"Come,  lie  down;  I'll  fix  the  bed  for  you  and 
find  grandpa,"  she  urged. 

"No,  come  back;  I'll  sit  here  on  the  step 
awhile.  I  must  be  going  soon." 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  97 

Dear  little  heart,  he  would  never  while  he 
lived  forget  her. 

"How  can  you  go,  hurt  as  you  are?" 

"Sit  down  here  by  me,  I  have  but  a  few  min- 
utes with  you.  I  ordered  my  horse  for  five 
o'clock." 

Without  further  resistance  she  took  the  seat. 
She  had  not  forgotten  that  his  will  was  the  only 
one  she  ever  met  stronger  than  her  own. 

"Forgive  me?"  looking  up  to  him,  she  asked. 

"Don't  use  that  word  between  us."  He  gath- 
ered her  hands  in  his  own,  partly  for  fear  she 
might  touch  his  knee.  Soon  his  horse  came 
around. 

"Poor  cripple,"  Esther  said  with  a  caressing 
accent,  stretching  her  hand  toward  his  knee,  as 
he  mounted.  Then  she  pressed  her  hands  hard 
against  her  eyelids  as  he  said  good-bye.  When 
she  looked  up  again  he  was  gone.  She  stood 
sighing  as  if  her  soul  would  leave  her  body,  as  he 
rode  on  at  a  gallop,  outlined  against  the  far  blue 
of  the  hills. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  first  shock  of  Glenn  Andrews'  absence 
was  a  bitter  trial  to  Esther,  who  grieved  unrea- 
soningly.  His  going  seemed  like  the  end  of  the 
world.  It  was  over,  those  rare,  dear  days  of 
smiles  and  tears,  of  trifling  quarrels  and  sweet 
reconciliations.  She  wondered  how  she  had  ever 
thought  the  sky  was  so  blue,  the  grass  so  green. 

Through  all  of  her  desolation,  however,  ran  the 
thought  that  he  wished  nothing  so  much  as  for 
her  to  advance  in  her  art. 

Would  she  let  the  first  rock  block  her  way? 
Youth  can  forget  its  grief.  She  was  so  uncon- 
ciously  true  to  him,  that  before  she  scarcely  real- 
ized it,  she  was  back  at  work,  harder  than  ever. 
[98] 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  99 

She  began  teaching  the  kind  old  German  mu- 
sician English  to  pay  for  her  instructions. 

Heart,  brain  and  soul  she  gave  to  her  art,  not 
all  for  its  sake  nor  hers,  but  for  the  man  that  was 
the  world's  best  type  to  her. 

The  devotion  with  which  she  had  worshipped 
him  was  for  the  time  transferred  to  the  violin 
that  became  the  absorbing  and  crowning  am- 
bition of  her  life. 

Glenn  had  been  gone  nearly  a  year.  The  sum- 
mer, instead  of  bringing  him,  brought  a  disap- 
pointment. 

He  wrote  her: 

"Fate  or  Providence  has  put  in  its  oar  to  the 
exclusion  of  my  own  interesting  plans.  I  didn't 
dare  really  hope  that  I  should  see  you  this  sum- 
mer, even  while  I  planned  the  trip.  Providence 
would  never  be  so  kind  as  that.  I  am  ordered 
to  Athens  to  do  some  special  work  for  our  maga- 
zine. They  have  been  unearthing  some  more 
wonderful  curiosities  there.  This  is  the  last  note 


ioo  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

I  write  before  going  abroad,  for  I  sail  early  to- 
morrow morning.  How  much  easier  it  is  to  learn 
things  than  to  unlearn  them.  I  used  to  think 
differently  at  college.  Very  many  times,  more  than 
I  will  admit  to  myself,  I  have  closed  my  eyes  and 
tried  to  imagine  that  I  should  open  them  upon 
yours,  gazing  disapprovingly  at  my  'steenth' 
cocktail.  Many  times  I  have  been  glad  when  I 
opened  them  that  it  was  not  so — at  others  I  have 
been  a  little  sorry.  There  is  a  deliciousness  about 
your  not  being  with  me  which  is  quite  a  new  sen- 
sation. I  shall  never  again  pity  the  old  Flagel- 
lants. I  know  now  that  there  was  a  certain 
ecstacy  of  pleasure  for  them  which  we  have  taken 
too  little  account  of.  There  is  a  pleasure  in  not 
writing  to  you,  too ;  I  am  writing  now  because  I 
know  if  I  don't  I  shall  not  hear  again  from  you, 
and  I  confess  that  I  don't  want  my  flaggelation 
to  take  that  shape.  You  were  growing  when  I 
left  you.  Have  you  stopped?  Don't  stop  think- 
ing— don't  stop  striving — don't  stop  hoping. 
You  have  no  lack  of  imagination,  inspiration,  but 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  101 

you  need  the  cold,  cruel  leaven  of  fact.  Your 
symphony  needs  less  harp  and  more  violin.  The 
Jews  are  clinging  to  their  old  ideals.  The  Gen- 
tiles crucified  it,  and  have  a  living  gospel.  Let 
them  die  if  they  won't  live  without  nursing.  You 
don't  want  them.  (I  mean  the  ideals — not  the 
Jews  this  time — metaphors  always  proved  too 
much  for  me.)  And  finally  don't  preach  to 
others  as  I  am  doing  to  you.  It's  a  bad  habit  and 
never  does  any  good.  But  remember  that  there 
are  a  few  misguided  and  dreamy  creatures  who 
think  you  may  do  something  one  of  these  days 
if  you  ever  get  your  eyes  rubbed  open  wide 
enough."  Glenn  Andrews." 

For  the  next  year  his  habitual  haunts  would 
know  him  no  more.  He  would  combine  with  his 
trip  a  while  in  Paris.  Casting  aside  all  obliga- 
tion he  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  life  about 
him.  Paris,  with  all  its  dangers,  all  its  charms, 
the  extraordinary  influence  of  that  congenial  life, 
touched  him  with  a  glowing  heat  of  inspiration. 


102  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

He  revelled  in  his  hopes — in  his  dreams.  Here 
he  would  write  something  worthy  of  him.  His 
nature  was  rich  in  the  vivid  impressions,  intense 
feelings  and  fine  thoughts  which  make  life  full 
of  real  meaning  and  significance.  Here  he  saw 
many  sides  of  it — much  of  it  was  meaningless 
and  distasteful,  and  repelled  all  of  his  finer  senses, 
but  "it  is  in  experience  that  one  sees  all  that  is 
most  vile  and  all  that  is  most  beautiful."  This 
was  an  excellent  opportunity.  All  the  while  he 
was  maturing — beginning  to  have  a  more  toler- 
ant knowledge  of  his  fellow  man.  His  heart  was 
kindlier — the  weight  of  his  judgment  lighter. 

Half  the  world  away,  Esther  was  sorrowing 
for  him — the  memory  of  the  disappointment  he 
had  caused  touched  deep  fibres  in  her  that  ached 
and  ached  and  ached.  Besides  this,  she  could 
see  her  old  grandfather  growing  feebler  with  the 
setting  of  every  sun.  His  small  stock  of  vitality 
was  slipping  away. 

He  knew  that  the  stalk  was  withered,  and  soon 
must  fall,  yet  he  tried  to  face  the  truth  in  smiling 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  103 

silence.  Sometimes — when  he  thought  of  the 
hands  that  had  so  longed  to  have  control  of  his 
child — the  anguish  in  him  overflowed.  They 
would  soon  have  her  in  their  grasp. 


THE  GIRL. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MR.  CAMPBELL  did  not  live  through  the  win- 
ter. 

Esther  was  left  to  the  care  of  his  nephew,  liv- 
ing in  a  remote  part  of  the  valley. 

One  morning,  when  she  had  rocked  one  of  the 
children  to  sleep,  she  sat  with  it  in  her  arms,  gaz- 
ing out  on  the  gloomy  day  with  sad,  set  eyes. 
For  the  time  being  she  lost  all  memory  of  the 
scene  about  her.  The  laughter  of  the  children, 
the  woman  leaning  over  the  bed,  cutting  small 
garments  out  of  coarse  cloth.  She  began  to  re- 
member all  that  her  grandfather  had  meant  to 
[104] 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  105 

her.  She  recalled  his  tenderness,  the  strong 
fortress  of  his  great  love  built  between  the  world 
and  her.  It  had  crumbled  so  slowly  that  she 
didn't  comprehend  that  it  could  ever  wear  quite 
away,  until  it  had  crumbled  to  the  ground.  True 
he  was  dead,  but  he  had  made  a  defense  for  her 
even  beyond  the  gulf.  Though  stinted  in  many 
things,  he  had  always  held  to  his  life  insurance. 
The  farm  was  worn  out — the  house  old — it  would 
bring  little,  but  the  two  together  would  help  her 
to  maintain  her  independence  until  she  could 
master  her  art.  He  did  not  know  the  years  or 
the  money  that  it  required — he  only  felt  that 
through  the  medium  of  her  art  she  might  hold 
some  of  the  dignity  of  position  to  which  she  was 
entitled  by  right  of  birth.  Knowing  this,  Esther 
yearned  with  her  heart  and  soul  to  go  forward. 
His  lofty,  beautiful  character  shone  out  before 
her  mind  without  a  flaw.  The  thought  of  again 
taking  up  the  task  alone  was  sweetened  and  en- 
nobled by  that  memory. 

The  woman  glanced  at  Esther  as  she  laid  aside 


io6  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

one  pattern,  put  the  pins  in  her  mouth  until  she 
could  place  another.  She  was  a  saffron-faced, 
stoop-shouldered  woman — one  who  prided  her- 
self on  the  drudgery  she  could  do,  who  welcomed, 
rather  than  flinched  from  hardships. 

"What  are  you  studyin'  about  now?" 

Esther  shuddered  as  she  recalled  the  present. 

"You  ain't  thinking  about  startin'  up  that  fid- 
dlin'  again,  are  you?"  the  other  stopped  short 
to  ask.  A  shadow  crossed  the  girl's  face. 

"Jenny  told  me  you  had  got  it  into  your  head 
to  take  lessons  again  from  that  old  Dutchman  at 
the  college." 

"I  have  been  thinking  about  it,"  Esther  an- 
swered calmly. 

"Goodness  knows  I  wouldn't!  I  always 
thought  the  fiddle  warn't  for  anybody  but  men 
and  niggers."  Her  high-pitched  voice  was  pierc- 
ing. "Georgy  got  a  juice  harp  somewhere,  and  I 
took  it  away  from  him  and  burnt  the  fetched 
thing  up.  I  have  always  heard:  'Let  your  chil- 
dren learn  music  if  you  want  'em  to  be  no 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  107 

'count.'  "  She  stopped  to  get  her  breath.  "Your 
cousin  John  thinks  it's  an  outrage — the  idea  of 
your  taking  lessons  again.  He  knows  nothing 
t'all  about  the  man — but  foreigners  are  a  bad  lot." 

"Did  cousin  John  tell  you  that  he  opposed  the 
idea?"  Esther  interrupted  her  to  ask. 

"He  didn't  seem  to  take  to  it,  any  more  than 
your  trapsin'  over  the  woods  by  your  lone  self." 

"Did  he  tell  you  he  thought  that  was  wrong?" 

"Well,  not  in  so  many  words,  but  I  can  tell 
when  a  thing  goes  against  the  grain  with  him. 
He  don't  like  to  hurt  you.  I  tell  him  he  thinks 
more  of  your  feelings  than  your  character.  I 
just  took  it  upon  myself  to  tell  you  for  your  own 
good." 

The  woman's  speech  was  harsh  and  to  the 
point.  She  continued  abruptly: 

"You  might  do  your  own  washin'  and  ironin' 
too,  instead  of  hirin'  it  all  the  time.  You  couldn't 
do  up  a  pocket-handkerchief." 

Esther  got  up,  and  laid  the  baby  in  the  crib; 
her  arms  ached  so. 


io8  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"If  you  knew  how  to  do  anything  you  might 
help  me  with  all  this  sewin'."  She  laid  one  knotty 
hand  on  a  heap  of  it  piled  beside  her. 

"I  don't  know  how,  but  I  will  hire  that  part 
of  it  done,  which  you  think  I  should  do,"  she  said 
gently,  looking  straight  at  the  woman. 

"When  cousin  John  wouldn't  take  any  money 
for  my  board,  I  asked  him  to  let  me  work  for  the 
worth  of  it.  I  didn't  ask  him  to  make  it  easy 
for  me.  He  has  a  big  family.  I  wanted  to  earn 
my  way." 

"He  does  think  you  try  to  earn  it,"  she  ad- 
mitted generously,  "but  I  think  it's  mighty  easy 
for  you  myself.  You  ought  to  be  very  thankful. 
Look  at  the  time  you  have — the  whole  blessed 
evenin'.  You  have  nothin'  but  to  help  Jenny 
with  the  children,  and  the  cookin'  and  the  milkin' 
— what's  three  cows  to  milk?  I  have  seen  the 
day,  before  the  family  was  so  big,  when  I  could 
do  all  the  work  on  the  place  and  not  half  try." 

Esther  made  a   brave   effort   to   control   the 


As  The  Hart  Panteth*  109 

strong  spirit  within  her.  From  the  start  the 
other  had  persisted  in  misinterpreting  her  emo- 
tions, misunderstanding  her  ambitions.  She  kept 
guard  of  herself,  for  this  was  her  cousin's  wife. 

"When  do  you  get  the  mail  out  here?"  Esther 
tried  to  change  the  subject. 

"When  do  we  get  the  mail?"  she  repeated  with 
intense  disgust. 

"Every  time  we  send  to  mill,  that's  four  or  five 
times  a  year  too  often,  to  get  those  papers  that 
John  will  take;  readin'  those  vile  things  is  the 
ruination  of  the  country.  I  keep  'em  from  the 
children  the  same  as  if  they  were  scorpions.  As 
for  letters,  we  don't  get  many.  Most  people  we 
care  about  live  closer  to  us  than  the  post  office. 
You  lookin'  for  any?" 

"I'd  like  to  get  one." 

"From  that  college  man?  I  reckon  he's  for- 
got you  are  in  existence." 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  Esther  said,  with  an  in- 
different show  of  pride. 


I  io  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"He  was  curious  looking  to  me;  the  way  he 
wore  his  hair  was  abominable." 

"He's  my  friend.    I'd  rather  not  talk  of  him." 

"That's  no  reason  he's  too  good  to  be  talked 
about." 

"As  you  please."  Reaching  for  her  hat  Esther 
started  toward  the  door. 

"You'd  better  let  'lone  fightin'  for  him  and 
learn  some  common  sense.  You'd  never  get 
married  if  men  knew  how  little  account  you  was. 
When  I  was  your  age  I'd  been  married  three 
years,"  she  said,  proudly.  "If  you  don't  want  to 
be  an  old  maid  you'd  better  settle  down  and  mar- 
ry." Esther  closed  the  door  as  she  uttered  the 
last  word. 

"Marry?  What?  A  plowboy,  a  pedler,  or  a 
washing  machine  agent?"  That  would  have 
been  her  cousin's  wife's  idea. 

She  wondered  as  she  said  this  to  herself  what 
had  become  of  all  those  people  we  hear  of  who 
"married  and  lived  happily  ever  afterward."  A 
sob  caught  in  her  throat,  and  she  almost  ran 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  1 1 1 

until  she  was  out  of  sight  and  sound  of  the  wo- 
man's voice. 

Esther  Powel  at  eighteen,  and  in  her  young, 
fresh  beauty — this  was  the  offering  she  would 
immolate  on  the  altar  of  her  limitations. 


CHAPTER  II. 

INSTEAD  of  resorting  to  the  woods,  her  old 
friend,  Esther  made  her  way  down  to  the  plum 
thicket.  The  honey  bees  were  humming  to  the 
heart  of  the  blossoms. 

Throwing  herself  full  length  upon  the  ground, 
she  lay  in  a  white  drift  of  them.  An  hour  or  more 
was  given  to  heartrending  sobs  of  utter  grief 
and  abandonment  of  everything  in  the  whole 
world. 

The  pathos  of  her  starved,  unsympathetic  ex- 
istence, living  in  isolation  among  people  as  heavy 
as  wet  clay.  All  the  sentiment,  thought,  passion, 
of  her  being  had  no  outlet — none  of  the  cravings 
of  her  youth  had  been  satisfied. 
[112] 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  1 1 3 

Between  her  and  Glenn  Andrews  the  silence 
had  been  unbroken  for  almost  a  year. 

As  she  lay  there  looking  up,  with  her  arms 
folded  under  her  head,  her  heart  almost  bursting 
with  a  sense  of  her  own  helplessness,  she  pic- 
tured herself  accepting  the  knowledge  that  she 
would  never  see  him  again.  All  the  unhealthy 
fancies  born  of  loneliness  and  sorrow  possessed 
her.  The  day  was  gray.  The  steel  rim  of  the 
sky  seemed  to  fit  the  woods.  She  watched  it 
with  a  stifling  sensation.  It  looked  as  if  it  would 
soon  bend  the  trees  double  and  close  in,  shutting 
down  upon  the  narrow  space  in  which  she  lived. 

She  remembered  to  have  seen  her  grandfather 
turn  an  old,  worn  pan  of  granite  down  upon  his 
early  tomato  slips.  He  did  this  to  keep  out  the 
light,  until  they  could  get  strength  enough  to 
stand  the  hardier  growth — he  did  it  to  force 
them.  The  consistence  of  nature's  laws  she  did 
not  understand. 

She  only  knew  that  to-day  for  her  was  very 


ii4  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

lonely,  narrow  and  dark,  and  to-morrow  would 
be  another  to-day  when  it  came. 

She  went  back  to  the  house  with  a  dull  ex- 
pression of  hopelessness  in  her  eyes. 


CHAPTER  III. 

So  the  days  passed — the  cold,  wretched  days. 
Esther  was  sewing  diligently,  making  both 
sleeves  for  one  arm,  blundering  on  everything 
she  undertook,  until  it  exhausted  her  teacher's 
patience.  For  some  time  she  was  less  a  help 
than  a  hindrance — yet  she  was  sewing. 

One  evening  she  dropped  her  work  and  went 
out  to  meet  her  cousin  John.  She  often  met 
him  when  he  came  home.  This  time  she  was 
unusually  anxious.  He  had  been  to  mill. 

"Well,  you  are  back;  we've  missed  you,"  she 
said. 

Mixed  with  her  love  for  him  was  a  big  pro- 
portion of  pity.  He  had  such  a  hard,  stupid 
kind  of  life  and  had  never  been  appreciated. 

["5] 


u6  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"Hello,  youngster!"  he  greeted  her,  with  his 
stout,  strident  voice.  "What'll  you  give  me  for 
a  letter — a  two-pounder?" 

"It  depends  on  where  it's  from." 

"Paris,  France." 

"No?    Really?" 

Holding  a  package  just  above  her  head,  he 
read:  "Mademoiselle  Esther  Powel,  Etats  Unis 
d'Amerique.  He's  sending  back  all  your  old 
letters.  This  looks  as  if  it  might  hold  a  dozen 
or  two." 

"They  are  not  mine,"  she  cried,  as,  laughing, 
she  leaped  and  snatched  it  from  his  hand. 

"Glenn  Andrews,"  she  repeated,  breathlessly, 
holding  the  writing  before  her  eyes.  Without  a 
word  she  stole  away,  to  read  it  alone.  He  loved 
her,  this  cousin  of  hers,  this  practical,  unimag- 
inative man,  but  he  had  never  understood  her. 
Her  ideas  were  not  his  ideas,  nor  her  hopes  his 
hopes,  but  he  was  proud  of  her  in  an  uncom- 
prehending manner  and  he  smiled  at  her  aspira- 
tions as  at  his  boy  baby's  ambition  to  drive  the 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  117 

mules.  A  thrill  crept  down  to  her  heart.  It  was 
a  book  exquisitely  bound,  bearing  Glenn  An- 
drew's name.  She  fondled  its  pages,  ran  her 
hand  lovingly  over  their  smooth  surface.  The 
book  opened  to  a  folded  paper,  on  which  were 
some  notes  jotted  down  for  the  violin,  an  ac- 
companiment to  a  song  that  he  had  written. 

Turning  the  leaves,  she  came  to  a  card;  a  line 
on  the  back  of  it  read:  "You  can  learn  this. 
Let  me  hear  at  New  York  address  after  April." 
It  was  dropped  by  a  poem,  "My  Little  Love  of 
Long  Ago." 

This  girl,  gifted  with  all  the  subtlety  of  rare 
natures,  understood.  Her  face  quivered  with 
tenderness  as  she  gazed  at  it.  The  world  was  full 
of  light — somebody  in  it  took  an  interest  in  her. 
This  had  fallen  like  some  faint,  soft  fragrance  in 
her  life.  Between  laughter  and  tears  she  read 
the  poem : 

"  My  little  love  of  long  ago, 

(How  swiftly  fly  the  tired  years  !) 
She  told  me  solemnly  and  low 

Of  all  her  hopes  and  all  her  fears. 


n8  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

She  feared  the  dangers  of  the  way, 

The  striving  and  the  work-a-day 

That  waited  far  across  the  sea — 
The  loneliness  of  missing  me. 

She  never  doubted  me— ah,  no  ! 

My  little  love  of  long  ago. 

"  For  she  had  faith  in  everything, 

(How  swiftly  fly  the  tired  hours  I) 
A  heart  that  could  not  help  but  sing, 

And  blossomed  out  amid  the  flowers. 
My  loving  was  its  best  refrain, 
My  leaving  was  its  saddest  rain. 

She  sobbed  it  all  upon  my  knee — 
The  loneliness  of  missing  me. 
I  kissed  and  comforted  her  so — 
My  little  love  of  long  ago. 

"  My  little  love  of  long  ago, 

(How  swiftly  fly  the  tired  days  !) 
Such  little  feet  to  stumble  slow 

Along  the  darkest  of  life's  ways, 
While  time  and  distance  and  the  sea, 
Or  my  poor,  careless  heart,  maybe, 

Could    not    have   told   from    spring    to 

spring, 

Why  we  so  long  went  wandering  ! 
Saddest  of  all  is  not  to  know  ! 
My  little  love  of  long  ago." 

Esther  was  radiant  with  joy.     She  sped  over 
the  ground  like  a  wild  young  deer,  running  to 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  119 

the  house  for  her  long-forsaken  violin.  She  car- 
ried it  to  the  back  of  the  orchard.  She  propped 
the  music  up  in  the  low  fork  of  an  apple  tree,  and 
wrestled  with  the  opening  bars.  It  was  .written 
in  a  minor  key  and  was  the  most  difficult  ac- 
companiment she  had  ever  seen.  Over  and  over 
again  she  tried  to  bring  out  the  plaintive  har- 
mony that  was  there.  She  had  to  give  it  up  at 
last — it  was  beyond  her  reach — it  challenged  her. 
This  caused  her  flickering  ambition  to  flash  up 
anew. 

A  new  resolve  glowed  in  her  eyes.  To  be 
thwarted  in  a  thing  was  touching  upon  an  ac- 
cutely  sensitive  nerve.  She  would  not  rest  until 
she  had  beaten  down  every  obstacle  between  her 
and  her  hope  of  attainment.  She  would  free  her- 
self of  these  maddeningly  narrow  surroundings. 

Glenn  Andrews  immediately  answered  her  let- 
ter, found  upon  his  arrival  in  New  York.  He 
said: 

"You  have  lived  among  the  flowers,  had  great 


120  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

grief,  and  now  the  flowers  do  not  console  you. 
And  yet,  if  you  only  knew  it,  nature  is  a  thou- 
sand times  better  at  consolation  than  human  be- 
ings. I  long  ago  gave  up  looking  for  consola- 
tion from  people — I  can  get  it  from  flowers. 
Maybe  it  is  because  I  don't  live  among  them. 
In  lieu  of  flowers,  I  take  work,  and  the  grind  I 
go  through  takes  the  edge  off  griefs,  joys  and 
ambitions.  It  reduces  one  to  the  dead  level  of 
passiveness,  which  is  not  ecstatic,  but  which  does 
not  hurt.  So  I  might  say  to  you:  "If  the  flowers 
do  not  console  you,  try  work" — but,  doubtless, 
you  have  been  working.  I  know  that  you  are 
capable  of  it.  Perhaps  time  has  worn  off  the 
brunt  of  your  sorrow  and  you  are  feeling  the  after 
pain  of  loneliness — which  is  even  worse  to  bear, 
because  less  vivid  and  more  constant. 

"You  ought  to  do  something  some  day  with 
your  art.  If  you  only  know  it,  you  are  not  un- 
fortunately situated  as  regards  your  future.  Try 
and  look  at  it  that  way.  Lift  up  your  head  and 
throw  your  shoulders  back.  Go  and  look  in  the 


As  The  Hart  Pantetk.  121 

looking-glass  and  make  a  face  at  yourself,  and 
remember  you  are  not  an  editor,  that  your  nose 
is  not  on  the  grind-stone  and  that  you  have,  after 
all,  something  to  thank  God  for." 

Esther  had  been  faithful  to  the  impulse  of  that 
day.  She  slaved  with  a  resolution  painful  to  see. 
In  that  year  she  had  changed,  developed  greatly. 
The  kindly  old  professor  regarded  her  with  pride 
as  he  sat  listening  to  her,  after  she  had  con- 
quered the  music  Glenn  Andrews  had  sent  to 
her.  There  was  a  sweep  of  magnificence  in  it. 

At  the  last  of  the  year  there  came  a  change.  The 
old  professor  was  leaving  for  a  broader  field. 
He  encouraged  her  to  make  an  effort  for  the 
highest  mark;  her  next  step,  in  his  opinion, 
should  be  New  York.  Of  course,  it  would  take 
self-sacrifice,  he  told  her;  "but  what  is  sacrifice 
when  one  is  at  the  center  of  the  world?" 

New  York,  which  she  had  feared,  and  which 
had  always  seemed  to  her  so  great  and  so  far. 
New  York  that  now  stood  for  all  the  hope  in 


122  As  Tke  Hart  Panteth. 

her  life.  After  the  professor  had  gone  she  be- 
gan turning  his  advice  over  in  her  mind.  She 
could  go  no  further  here.  She  might  there.  But 
the  struggle  to  keep  up  the  pace  in  New  York 
while  she  was  doing  it,  would  probably  throttle 
all  the  ambition  and  freshness  she  had  as  capital 
to  begin  with.  She  thought  of  people  she  loved 
who  had  gone.  She  could  not  turn  out  ill  after 
all  their  care.  She  might  accomplish  something 
in  spite  of  the  difficulties.  Lots  of  people  had. 
Her  impulse  was  to  dare  until,  under  the  heat  of 
its  spell,  she  wrote  a  line  to  Glenn  Andrews. 
"What  do  you  think  of  New  York  for  me?" 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"WHAT  do  I  think  of  New  York  for  you?" 
Glenn  Andrews  replied,  "frankly  I  don't  know. 
You  forget  that  the  one  thing  necessary  to  an- 
swer your  question  is  the  one  thing  I  don't  pos- 
sess. That  is  to  say,  I  don't  know  you  as  time 
has  made  you.  What  I  would  have  said  years 
ago  to  the  slip  of  a  girl,  I  cannot  say  to  the  grow- 
ing woman.  You  and  your  art  are  the  deciding 
quantities.  Have  you  bodily  strength,  or  only 
nerve  fibre?  Have  you  real  genius,  or  only  medi- 
ocrity? Genius,  which  lives  by  self-understand- 
ing, can  forgive  this  blunt  questioning.  New 
York  takes  strength.  It  is  a  great  monster 
which  grips  you  by  the  throat  and  shakes  you  as 
a  dog  does  a  squirrel.  The  process  shakes  the 

[123] 


1 24  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

life  out  of  its  body  anl  leaves  it  broken  and  dead, 
or  else  it  twists  its  neck,  bites  strong  and  deep, 
and  is  allowed  to  go.  You  must  draw  blood  to 
make  the  monster  of  city  life  quit — the  rich, 
warm  blood  of  enthusiasm  and  applause.  And  I 
doubt  wrhether  your  teeth  are  strong  enough. 

"Success  means  hard  work — long,  bitter  days 
and  nights  of  it — drab  days  of  monotony,  black 
nights  of  disappointment.  It  means  toil  and 
tears.  This  is  a  maelstrom,  and  only  the  biggest 
branches  float  on  the  surface.  The  little  twigs 
are  sucked  down.  And  it  is  a  place  of  giant  tim- 
ber. The  oak  from  the  country  hillside  is  only 
a  scrub  here.  You  must  remember  this.  The 
bigness  of  it  all  makes  for  heartlessness.  When 
one  meets  a  beggar  on  every  corner,  one  soon 
ceases  to  feel  sorry;  and  where  failures  are  so 
common,  there  is  seldom  a  helping  hand  or  even 
a  sigh  of  sympathy.  Only  the  warmest  fire  can 
go  on  burning  brightly  with  the  ice  falling  so 
thick  around  it. 

"So  much  for  you  yourself,  and  your  own  view 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  125 

of  yourself.  As  to  your  ability,  I  mean.  Your 
circumstances  I  do  not  know.  New  York  takes 
money.  In  comparison  with  your  own  home,  it 
takes  a  great  deal.  To  succeed  in  it  requires  time 
— years;  and  unless  you  can  afford  to  stay  it 
through,  you  would  better  save  yourself  the  dis- 
couragement of  failure,  for  there  is  no  bitterer 
failure  than  that  which  we  feel  to  be  purely  cir- 
cumstantial. 

"I  pass  over  the  question  of  the  evil  of  New 
York.  Evil  comes  from  inside  of  us — it  is  not 
absorbed.  If  we  are  pure,  it  does  not  touch  us;  it 
goes  by.  I  believe  it  would  go  by  you.  There 
are  no  temptations  in  New  York  any  more  than 
there  are  at  home,  for  those  who  do  not  want  to 
be  tempted.  You  are,  no  doubt,  a  far  better 
judge  of  this  matter  than  your  minister — I  am 
heterodox  enough  for  that. 

"There  is  another  side.  No  one  knows  genius 
so  well  as  itself.  If  you  have  it,  New  York  is  the 
place  for  you.  The  greater  the  body,  the  greater 
the  attraction  for  the  great  centre.  I  would  not 


126  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

counsel  you  to  disregard  its  force,  for  I  believe 
only  true  motives  move  you.  And  if  you  know 
yourself  and  believe  in  yourself,  you  will  find 
a  way  to  beat  down  other  difficulties.  There  are 
ways  of  living  in  New  York  cheaply.  You  might 
essay  the  purgatorial  round  of  music  lessons; 
your  violin  might  earn  its  own  halo — who 
knows? 

"I  take  it  you  would  come  alone.  There  are 
places  where  young  women,  unattended,  are 
made  welcome  and  cared  for;  and  there  are 
places  where  earnest  workers  congregate  where 
there  are  ordinary  comforts  at  (low  rates — these, 
if  you  should  decide  to  try  the  venture,  you  must 
let  me  tell  you  of.  I  should  be  glad  indeed  if 
what  knowledge  I  have  of  the  city  might  be  of 
some  service  to  you. 

"In  closing  this  letter,  I  feel  that,  after  all,  I 
have  told  you  nothing.  You  have,  no  doubt,  con- 
sidered the  question  in  all  its  bearings.  Such  a 
step  is  a  serious  one — far  too  much  so  for  me  to 
intrude  upon  it.  Be  true  to  yourself — to  your 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  127 

ideas,  your  judgment,  and  your  reason.  If  you 
do  this,  you  will  be  true  to  your  art.  Do  not 
hesitate  to  write  me  if  I  can  help  you,  but  you 
must  not  ask  me  to  advise  you  as  to  coming. 
'What  do  I  think  of  New  York  for  you?'  I  don't 
know! 

"Glenn  Andrews." 


CHAPTER  V. 

HERE  was  a  man  who  had  lost  the  romance  of 
life.  Not  a  shred  of  sentiment  was  left. 

Richmond  Briarley  strode  about  his  den,  pull- 
ing his  smoking  jacket  from  a  pair  of  vicious- 
looking  antlers  above  the  door,  his  slippers  from 
the  wings  of  Cupid  poised  above  the  glorious 
Psyche. 

There  was  a  princely  abandon  in  the  luxurious 
den  he  called  "home."  Looking  about  it,  one 
would  conceive  him  to  be  a  man  quite  beyond 
the  ordinary — if  the  trophies,  pictures,  statuary, 
bespoke  his  individuality. 

"Don't  wait  for  me,  Andrews,  go  ahead,"  he 
called  out  from  an  alcove. 

If  his  heart  was  not  open  to  his  friends,  his 
[128] 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  129 

finest  wines  were,  and  the  one  is  often  mistaken 
for  the  other. 

Richmond  Briarley  had  ample,  irregular  fea- 
tures, hair  and  eyes  the  blackest  black,  and  an 
olive  gray  complexion.  There  was  something 
stoic  in  the  closing  of  his  lips,  set  around  with 
circular  wrinkles,  revealing  the  traits  peculiar  to 
his  type.  He  hadn't  the  least  regard  for  the  past, 
nor  fault  to  find  with  the  future. 

Coming  out,  he  poured  a  glass  of  wine  and 
drank  with  Glenn  Andrews. 

"Have  a  smoke,"  glancing  towards  a  tabour- 
ette,  strewn  with  pipes,  some  of  them  disreput- 
able enough  to  the  eye. 

"Take  any  of  them,  you  won't  be  smoking  any 
old,  dry,  dead  memories — these  are  all  'bought' 
ones." 

"I'll  help  myself.  I  was  just  reading  my  mail. 
The  boy  handed  it  to  me  as  I  was  leaving  the  of- 
fice." 

Folding  a  sheet  of  paper  on  which  was  written 


130  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

only  a  name  and  address,  he  took  up  one  of 
the  pipes  and  began  filling  it. 

So  Esther  Powel  was  in  town.  It  was  a  daring 
entrance  upon  life  for  this  little  hard-headed, 
soft-hearted  Southerner.  He  looked  thoughtful; 
the  soberness  of  his  youth,  rather  than  the  labor 
of  his  manhood,  had  lightly  marked  his  face.  A 
sudden  apprehension  seized  him  for  the  pure, 
sweet  life  he  knew  so  well.  It  was  almost  as 
much  as  her  life  was  worth  to  come  here  so 
pretty  and  so  friendless.  She  needed  protection. 

This  thought  took  possession  of  his  mind  to 
the  exclusion  of  all  else.  In  the  old  days  he  had 
been  the  only  one  who  could  bend  her  wayward 
will.  Her  faith  in  him  was  the  blind  unquestion- 
ing faith  of  a  child.  Her  own  feeling  for  him  she 
did  not  reason  with.  She  accepted  it  as  a  fact 
which  was  beyond  her  analysis.  Under  its  spell 
she  had  grown  and  flourished  against  great  odds. 
Why  should  she  not  continue  to  do  so? 

"Briarley,"  Glenn  went  on,  filling  his  pipe,  and 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  131 

packing  it  down  with  his  thumb.  "Suppose  you 
knew  a  girl  who  was  coming  here  alone,  to  study 
art,  what  would  you  consider  the  very  best  way 
to  shield  her?" 

"By  keeping  away  from  her." 

"But,  suppose  she  needed  some  one  to  look  to 
— suppose  she  were  young  and  knew  no  one. 
City  life  is  a  fiercely  hardening  process,  you 
know." 

"I'd  get  some  woman  friend  to  show  her  all 
there  was  to  see,  and  that  might  cure  her.  So- 
called  sin  charms  because  it's  unknown." 

"Don't  you  think  a  girl's  love,  if  not  unappre- 
ciated, is  a  shield  and  an  inspiration?" 

Briarley  shook  his  head. 

"Oh !  of  course,  I  forgot.  You  don't  believe  in 
love." 

"I  do,  as  much  as  I  believe  in  any  other  hell." 

Andrews  was  silent. 

"Have  your  fun  out,  then  we'll  be  serious." 

Their  views  were  directly  opposite,  yet  the  en- 


132  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

thusiasm  of  each  made  ground  for  respect,  if  not 
agreement. 

"While  you  now  admit  such  a  phantasy,  An- 
drews, you  get  the  credit  of  living  by  the  head. 
It  is  generally  understood  that  you  never  let 
scruples  of  the  heart  stand  in  the  way." 

"I  am  not  a  woman;  besides,  it  is  a  matter  of 
self-denial,  and  not  unbelief.  My  love  is  my 
profession — long  ago  I  made  my  choice  be- 
tween woman  and  art — if  I  had  chosen  woman 
that  love  would  have  ruled  my  life.  I  have  given 
over  much  for  my  work;  it  has  demanded  sacri- 
fice. I  am  just  now  beginning  to  prove  myself 
equal  to  its  despotic  sovereignty.  Briarley,  unless 
you  have  tried  for  one  thing  all  your  life,  you 
can't  conceive  how  bewildering  and  sweet  a  burst 
of  it  is  for  the  first  time.  Under  no  conditions 
whatever  would  I  sacrifice  my  best  aims,  my 
highest  ambitions.  It  is  better  to  be  than  to 
have.  That's  my  philosophy." 

"Go  on.  Every  man  has  the  right  to  work 
out  his  own  destiny." 


As  The  Hart  Pcmteth.  133 

Briarley  filled  his  glass  again.  "The  way  he 
can  get  the  most  satisfaction  is  the  way  he  gen- 
erally chooses." 

"Satisfaction  hurts  the  soul.  There  is  nothing 
worse  than  satiety  of  the  senses.  I  would  never 
let  myself  become  thoroughly  satisfied." 

"You  couldn't  ask  for  more  than  the  success 
of  that  last  book.  The  critics  rendered  you  dis- 
tinguished services,"  said  Briarley.  "I  under- 
stand the  sale  was  enormous." 

"It  has  sold  very  well,  but  that  only  forces  me 
to  wrestle  the  harder  to  keep  up  the  standard 
of  that  reputation.  If  I  cared  for  a  woman,  my 
heart  and  soul  could  be  loyal  to  her,  but  my 
time  and  vitality  belong  entirely  to  my  art.  'Wo- 
men are  born  to  live  and  love.  They  only  really 
live  after  they  love.'  " 

Andrews  went  on  as  though  the  other  had  en- 
dorsed his  doctrine.  "Love  is  an  uplifting  force 
to  genius.  A  man  would  be  doing  a  chivalrous 
act  to  win  and  hold  the  devotion  of  a  girl  in  such 
an  instance  as  I  have  cited." 


134  ^s  ^e  Hart  Panteth. 

•  "It  would  be  a  risk." 

"Yes,  but  in  my  judgment  the  advantage  is 
much  greater  than  the  risk." 

"It  would  be  a  responsibility." 

"I  like  responsibility;  it  braces  a  man  to  bear 
it." 

"Well,  the  fellow  who  carries  out  your  mad 
project  will  settle  for  his  folly." 

"If  he  did,  I'd  stand  by  him  in  it." 

"He  couldn't  stand  by  himself.  There'd  be  the 
trouble — he'd  fall." 

Glenn  Andrews  knocked  the  ashes  from  his 
pipe  and  got  up,  straightening  his  shoulders  and 
smoothing  his  hair  with  his  hands.  His  mind 
was  made  up.  He  did  not  expect  to  fall. 

Knowing  himself  to  be  his  own  master,  he  felt 
that  to  lend  himself  to  anything  that  would  hurt 
her  ideal  of  him  would  be  impossible. 

"Where  now?" 

"To  find  somebody  looking  for  trouble,"  Glenn 
said,  with  a  smile. 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  135 

"Don't  forget  the  Sunday  night  concert,  An- 
drews. I'm  counting  on  you.  Here  are  half  the 
box  tickets.  Do  what  you  please  with  them." 

"I  shall  be  there.    Thank  you." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

GLENN  ANDREWS  walked  down  the  street, 
which  had  been  written  on  the  sheet  of  paper  in 
his  pocket. 

"No.  23."  He  looked  up  and  saw  that  No.  23 
was  a  hospital.  There  must  be  some  mistake. 
No,  that  was  plainly  what  it  said. 

He  stood  looking  at  the  door  in  an  anxious 
manner. 

"Could  she  be  here— ill?" 

He  had  drawn  a  charming  picture  of  her,  a 
radiant  specimen  of  perfect  health.  His  pulse 
quickened.  The  curtains  parted  and  a  girl  ap- 
peared at  the  window.  Her  eyes  were  dim,  her 
face  ghastly — the  look  on  it  was  neither  pain  nor 
age — it  was  a  look  of  hopelessness.  The  rich, 
[136] 


As  T/ie  Hart  Panteth.  137 

gleaming  hair  made  a  glory  about  her  head,  as 
the  light  caught  its  golden  sheen.  That  was  like 
her  hair.  A  moment  she  stood  there,  looking 
down  the  street,  then  dropped  the  curtain.  He 
saw  her  turn  and  go  sorrowfully  upstairs. 

The  light  from  the  hall  chandelier  was  very 
brilliant — his  face  cleared.  A  better  look  satis- 
fied him  it  was  not  Esther  Powel. 

He  pondered  a  minute,  then  started  down  the 
street  again.  She  had  evidently  given  him  the 
wrong  number. 

At  the  corner  he  stopped  a  policeman.  "I  am 
looking  for  a  boarding  house  on  this  street — 
No.  23,  West." 

"Maybe  it's  the  next  street;  that  same  number 
is  a  boarding  house.  All  in  this  block  are  private 
houses  except  the  hospital." 

Glenn  thanked  him  and  went  on  quickly. 
She'd  made  a  mistake  in  the  street  maybe.  It 
would  soon  be  too  late  to  call.  He  did  not  need 
to  inquire  again,  for  as  he  turned  the  corner  he 
could  see  Esther  Powel  on  the  steps,  looking 


138  As  The  Hart  Pantcth. 

out  upon  the  square  ablaze  with  light  and  confu- 
sion. 

"It  is  Mr.  Glenn."  With  the  words  she  sprang 
three  steps  at  a  time  to  the  pavement.  "How 
glad  I  am!" 

And  then  she  stopped,  remembered,  and  held 
out  her  hands. 

"How  you  frightened  me.  You  had  me  going 
to  the  hospital  to  find  you.  That's  the  same 
number  on  the  next  street." 

"Well,  how  do  you  expect  me  to  get  things 
right  when  I  feel  like  I'm  flying  every  way  and 
can't  get  myself  together  to  light?" 

Glenn  always  found  her  startling  figures  amus- 
ing. "You  will  feel  that  for  awhile."  He  hadn't 
taken  his  eyes  away  from  her  as  she  led  the  way 
into  the  parlor.  "You  are  stunned  by  the  novel- 
ties. You  will  also  be  quickened  by  them." 

Esther,  full-breasted,  slender-limbed,  rounded. 
The  joy  of  life  was  upon  her — the  lovliness  of 
full  bloom. 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  1 39 

"It's  good  to  see  you  again,"  he  said,  "but 
why  didn't  you  let  me  help  you  get  settled?" 

"It  took  enough  of  your  time  to  write  that 
discouraging  letter." 

"You  know  I  didn't  mean  it  for  that.  I 
would  do  most  anything  to  further  your  art.  But 
it  is  best  to  do  only  that  for  what  we  are  intend- 
ed. Nobody  could  know  that  as  well  as  yourself. 
I  believed  your  decision  would  be  right,  whatever 
it  was,"  he  told  her.  "Are  you  pleased  with  your 
advancement  so  far?" 

"Not  pleased — buoyed.  I  hope  to  do  some- 
thing some  day."  As  she  raised  her  eyes  to  him 
they  expressed  something  of  the  wild,  delicate, 
thobbing  pride.  "I  did  not  come  to  fail." 

"I  believe  that,  from  the  good  reports  I  have 
heard  through  our  old  friend,  your  professor." 

"He  was  very  nice  to  me;  it  was  through  him 
that  I  knew  about  the  Frenchman  who  will  in- 
struct me  here." 

"So  you've  arranged  all  that,  too." 

"Oh,  yes;  I  begin  my  lessons  next  Monday," 


140  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"Smart  girl.  How  are  you  situated  here;  are 
you  comfortable?" 

"Comfortable!"  she  laughed.  "I  have  to  come 
downstairs  to  draw  a  good  breath.  They  stow 
me  away  in  a  sort  of  a  garret  on  the  fourth  floor. 
As  Cousin  John  would  say,  there  isn't  room  to 
'cuss'  a  cat  without  turning  sideways." 

"I  believe  your  Southern  men  are  more  given 
to  profanity  than  Northerners,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  but  his  is  so  whole-souled  that  it  is  only 
'profunity.' " 

"Oh,  dear;  don't  think  that  I'm  opposed  to  it," 
Glenn  interrupted.  "I  sometimes  find  relief  in  a 
good,  wholesome " 

Esther  held  up  a  warning  forefinger. 

"Then  you  may  do  mine  for  me.  I  shall  need 
it  if  I  stay  here  long  enough." 

"Boarding  house  life  is  a  miserable  parody  on 
home,  I  know.  But  we  can  stand  most  anything 
for  a  while  if  the  incentive  is  great  enough." 

"All  these  looking-glasses  keep  me  tangled. 
I  seem  to  be  going  towards  myself,  from  myself, 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  141 

beside  myself,  but  I  have  been  fortunate  a  part  of 
the  time.  Two  young  men  on  the  train  gave  me 
addresses  of  nice  places  to  board  when  they 
found  that  I  was  alone  and  a  stranger  to  the 
city." 

Instinctively  Glenn  frowned.  "Have  you  got 
them?" 

"I  saved  them  to  show  you."  Taking  them 
from  her  purse,  she  handed  him  the  cards. 

"You  don't  want  them,"  he  said,  crushing  the 
cards  in  his  hand. 

"Did  they  ask  permission  to  call?" 

"One  did.  He  wanted  to  come  with  me  from 
the  station.  I  didn't  care  to  be  bothered  when 
I  was  thinking  of  seeing  you.  My!  how  I 
dreaded  to  see  you,  though  I  believe  if  I  hadn't 
very  soon  I'd  have  started  back  South,"  she  said 
in  her  effusive  way.  "I  was  afraid  the  change 
I'd  find  in  you  would  be  disappointing." 

"Was  it?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"Yes,  because  it  is  for  the  better.     I  didn't 


142  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

want  to  care  as  I  used  to  in  the  old  days."     She 
was  still  childish  enough  to  be  honest. 
"Why,  did  you  find  me  unworthy?" 
"I  suppose  you  were  worthy  enough,  but  I 
have  learned  it  is  not  well  to  let  one's  affection 
wrap  their  tendrils  too  close  about  another;  it 
hurts  so  when  they  are  snapped." 

"There  is  no  reason  for  them  to  be  snapped," 
he  argued.  "The  joy  of  clinging  should  make 
them  strong  enough  to  wrap  and  unwrap,  leaving 
its  sweet  effect."  As  he  was  leaving,  "Trust 
men  for  little  and  your  instinct  for  a  good  deal," 
he  said.  His  visit  had  made  him  all  the  more 
determined.  A  profound  passion  can  be  dis- 
placed only  by  one  greater.  He  had  had  no  ex- 
perience in  guiding  people,  but  he  had  a  des- 
perate faith  in  his  own  way  of  reasoning. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

GLENN  ANDREWS  took  Esther  with  him  to  the 
concert.  It  was  a  great  violinist's  last  appear- 
ance for  the  season. 

She  was  happily  excited,  unconsciously  hold- 
ing Glenn  by  the  sleeve.  The  glitter  and  glory 
of  this  wonderful,  new  world  was  dazzling.  The 
violinist,  with  his  long  hair  and  big  face  of 
rugged  strength,  enchained  her  the  moment  the 
music  commenced. 

With  the  intensity  of  her  growing  enthusiasm, 
she  gripped  Glenn's  arm.  He  was  repeatedly  re- 
called. 

"I  expect  one  day  to  see  you  sway  them  like 
that,"  he  whispered,  as  the  curtain  went  down 
for  the  fourth  time. 

[i43] 


144  ^s  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"Don't!  it  is  impossible,"  she  said,  sighing. 
"I  am  just  beginning  to  feel  that  my  teeth  are 
not  strong  enough." 

"There  was  a  time  when  his  were  not,  but  he 
wouldn't  let  go,"  Glenn  said  with  emphasis. 

Tears  stood  in  her  eyes.  "Don't  do  that,  I 
thought  it  would  inspire  you  to  see  such  result, 
fulfillment;  I  believe  it's  going  to  depress  you." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  rejoice  with  him,  I'm  glad  to  see  him  win; 
but  three  long  years  before  you  are  sure  of  any- 
thing— even  failure — is  hard  to  look  forward  to." 

"Did  your  teacher  say  it  would  take  you  that 
long?" 

"Yes,  but  I  had  thought  that  I  would  double 
it;  take  twice  the  lessons  and  practice.  After 
all,  I  may  fail  in  the  end." 

"Hush,  you  are  no  weakling.  Of  course  it's 
work,  it's  drudgery;  that's  the  bracing  part  of  it. 
You've  earned  the  place  when  you  do  get  it.  An 
effortless  success  is  only  a  crueller  word  for  fail- 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  145 

ure;  you  must  not  be  impatient.  I  used  to  have 
to  remind  you  of  that." 

Glenn  did  not  know  how  she  would  take  this; 
he  had  had  alluring  glimpses  of  her  deeper  self, 
but  he  must  understand  her  very  thoroughly  or 
he  could  not  hold  her,  charmed. 

She  did  not  make  any  reply. 

He  was  gazing  at  a  box  near  them  and  bowed 
to  a  majestically  handsome  woman,  splendidly 
gowned.  He  touched  Richmond  Briarley's  arm. 

"Mrs.  Low  and  Stephen  Kent.  Kent  is  an  aw- 
fully decent  chap.  He  is  lucky  to  be  a  protege  of 
hers.  What  a  lot  of  good  her  indorsement  has 
been  to  him.  I  knew  him  on  the  other  side.  I 
am  writing  the  libretto  for  his  new  opera.  You 
were  at  the  club  Tuesday  night  when  he  was  my 
guest.  Didn't  you  meet  him?" 

"No,  but  I  heard  him  play  some  of  his  own 
compositions.  Something  was  said  about  us  both 
joining  the  club.  It's  too  literary  for  me." 

"I  am  his  voucher.     He  sails  soon  and  I  don't 


146  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

think  he  expects  to  come  into  the  club  until  he 
returns  in  the  winter." 

Glenn  turned  to  Esther,  who  was  absorbed  in 
the  last  number  on  the  programme. 

She  spoke  softly  to  him.  Gathering  up  her 
white  silk  shawl,  he  folded  it  about  her  shoulders. 

"We  are  going  in  a  minute.  The  lady  you  see 
with  white  hair  in  this  box  next  to  us  is  a  leader 
in  artistic  circles.  I  want  her  to  know  you." 

The  curtain  fell  as  they  arose.  Linking  his  lit- 
tle finger  in  hers  under  the  fringe,  he  led  her 
over  to  the  box.  There  was  something  in  his 
manner  that  expressed  beyond  question  his  de- 
termination that  never  while  he  had  strength 
should  the  world  darken  this  child's  soul. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

GLENN  ANDREWS  was  unwearied  in  his  visits, 
and  held  to  an  abiding  faith  in  Esther's  future, 
and  stronger  and  stronger  grew  his  determina- 
tion to  be  steadfastly  loyal  to  her.  He  seemed 
to  have  an  exhaustless  reserve  fund  of  nerve 
power.  Stinted  in  sleep,  as  he  was,  and  over- 
whelmed by  his  own  work,  yet  he  made  time  to 
look  after  her. 

With  an  infinite  patience  he  was  cutting  a 
niche  for  himself,  and  above  it  a  name. 

His  admirable  solicitude  for  Esther  was  at 
strange  variance  with  his  desire  to  wound  her, 
bruise  her,  make  her  think  and  feel. 

To  her  he  was  a  mystery  unfathomable.  The 
heart  within  her  was  so  delicate,  it  easily  swayed 

['47] 


148  As  The  Hart  Pantelk. 

from  harmony  to  discord.  She  was  so  sensitive, 
she  must  needs  be  always  responsible  to  the  pain- 
ful as  well  as  the  ecstatic  emotions. 

In  her  habit  of  telling  him  everything  that  hap- 
pened in  her  life  there  was  one  thing  that  she 
had  kept.  The  nearer  it  came,  the  more  vivid 
grew  her  prescience  of  what  awaited  her.  The 
strain  of  this  fresh  anxiety  was  consuming  her. 
Would  she  have  strength  to  hold  out? 

She  was  whiter,  her  cheeks  had  not  quite  that 
rose  bloom  she  had  brought  with  her  out  of  the 
air  and  sunshine.  Under  this  weight  she  went 
steadfastly  on  ,in  silence. 

Glenn  saw  this.  He  had  told  her  she  was 
working  too  hard.  He  could  see  that  her  health 
was  not  up  to  the  mark.  When  there  was  a 
cloud,  or  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  upon  her  face, 
he  saw  it.  She  should  see  a  doctor.  He  told  her 
that  repeatedly.  Honest  as  she  was,  she  could 
not  bring  herself  to  tell  him  that  she  was  too 
poor.  Already  she  had  battled  through  the  heat 
of  the  long  summer,  in  need  of  medical  assist- 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  149 

ance.  She  was  living  up  to  her  income,  and 
found  it  difficult  to  furnish  the  bare  necessities 
and  pay  for  just  half  the  lessons  she  had  counted 
on.  There  was  no  hope  of  shortening  the  three 
years  except  by  increasing  her  practice.  This 
she  determined  to  do,  six  hours  a  day  instead  of 
three. 

"I  believe  you  would  stay  up  in  that  room  and 
mold,"  Glenn  said  one  day  as  they  walked  in  the 
sun  by  the  river.  "You  surely  could  find  time  for 
an  outing  once  a  day  for  an  hour  or  two."  He 
was  puzzled  to  know  why  she  had  declined  to 
walk  with  him  of  late.  It  did  not  occur  to  him 
that  lack  of  time  was  her  excuse. 

"You  have  your  lessons  but  four  days  in  the 
week,"  he  said. 

"Only  two  now,"  she  corrected  him. 

"Then  you  have  changed  your  plans!" 

"Yes." 

"And  how  many  hours  a  day  do  you  devote 
to  your  practicing?" 


150  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"Oh,  several;  it  depends  upon  my  humor  and 
strength." 

"I  don't  think  you  consider  the  strength,"  he 
said  as  he  looked  at  her.  "You  are  tired  now, 
why  didn't  you  tell  me?  Sit  here  and  rest  a  little 
before  going  back." 

As  they  took  a  seat  on  the  high  edge  of  the 
river,  there  was  something  like  a  sob  of  exhaus- 
tion in  her  breath, 

"Oh,  Esther!  How  could  you?"  seeing  how 
faint  she  was.  Her  cheek  fell  in  one  hand. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  you  were  tired?" 

"The  air  was  so  bracing,  I  kept  thinking  I 
would  feel  better  directly.  How  stupid  of  me  to 
give  out  so  quickly." 

His  tender  little  cares  for  her  comfort,  in  small 
things,  had  often  made  her  ashamed  and  afraid 
she  was  a  burden  to  him. 

"Did  the  doctor  give  you  a  tonic  when  you  saw 
him?" 

"I  haven't  been  to  him  yet." 

Glenn  Andrews  looked  away  across  the  blue 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  151 

water.  His  heart  understood.  He  knew  by  her 
face  that  the  coldest  thing  on  earth  was  clamping 
at  her  heart.  Presently  he  turned  back  to  her. 

"How  good  a  friend  do  you  count  me?" 

"The  best  I  have  in  the  world." 

"Good  enough  to  ask  anything  of  me — every- 
thing?" 

She  sat  in  silence,  taking  her  hand  softly  away 
from  the  support  of  her  face. 

"Will  you  answer  me?" 

"There  are  some  things  that  I  would  ask  of 
nobody  that  lives." 

Glenn  slightly  raised  his  broad  shoulders  and 
lowered  them  with  a  sigh. 

"I  am  disappointed  in  our  friendship.  It  has 
failed." 

She  reflected  a  moment;  "I  don't  deserve  that 
from  you." 

"Nor  do  I  deserve  what  you  have  just  put  upon 
me.  It  had  struck  him  like  a  pang.  The  sweet 
sense  of  her  faith — her  dependence  upon  him — 
had  been  the  very  dearest  emotion  of  his  life.  It 


152  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

strengthened  him,  to  feel  that  she  might  lean 
hard  upon  him.  He  was  not  willing  that  the 
pressure  should  be  lessened. 

"I  don't  want  to  pass  for  more  than  I  am 
worth.  If  I  have  fallen  short  of  what  you  ex- 
pected of  me,  I  don't  blame  you  for  putting  me 
down  on  the  common  level  with  everybody." 

If  her  sorrow  had  been  his  own  he  could  not 
have  felt  it  more  deeply.  "Only  I  am  disap- 
pointed, that's  all." 

She  was  distressed  to  the  soul;  his  sympathy 
for  her  had  been  so  courageously  beautiful,  so 
exquisitely  true,  that  she  could  not  bear  the  idea 
of  disappointing  him,  or  allowing  him  to  feel  that 
she  underrated  his  value. 

"I  don't  know  men  very  well,  but  I  know  you 
are  not  like  the  others.  Nothing  could  be  very 
hard  to  bear,  because  you  are  my  friend.  I  wel- 
come the  days  which  bring  you  to  me.  You  have 
been  my  fortification." 

"Then  prove  it,"  the  soft  answer  came  back. 


As  The  Hart  Panteih.  153 

"I  know  that  something  distresses  you.    Tell  me 

of  it.  and  let  me  help  you." 

"It's  nothing  that  you  could  change." 
"How  do  you  know?    Let  me  judge  that." 
"No,  not  now,  sometime  I  will  tell  you  if  you 

can  soften  things  for  me." 

Her  keen  refinement  would  not  let  her  talk  to 

him  of  her  poverty. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

RICHMOND  BRIARLEY  had  never  asked  any 
questions  about  Esther  Powel;  she  was  Glenn's 
friend,  and  that  was  all. 

"I  saw  Miss  Powel,"  he  said,  as  he  and  Glenn 
sat  over  their  lunch.  "I  nearly  got  past  before 
I  recognized  her.  She  has  changed.  She  has 
been  ill?" 

"No,  I  think  not,"  Glenn  answered.  "She's 
been  working  hard,  and  she  hasn't  been  used  to 
work.  I  am  going  away  on  my  vacation  to-mor- 
row. I've  been  wondering  if  there  wasn't  some 
nice  place,  just  outside  of  town,  where  she  might 
go.  She  needs  the  rest,  the  change."  Glenn  An- 
drews made  no  secret  of  his  kindly  interest.  He 
and  Richmond  Briarley  had  long  been  closely 
intimate. 

[154] 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  155 

"What's  the  matter  with  my  yacht?  The  old 
thing  might  sink  if  it  knew  there  was  a  woman 
aboard,  but  let  it  sink.  It  would  give  you  a 
chance  to  show  your  heroism." 

"Would  you  come  along?" 

"Oh,  no;  I  might  not  get  ashore.  Really  I 
have  other  plans,  but  it  is  easy  enough  to  get  a 
crowd.  There's  Mrs.  Low  and  Kent." 

"Both  on  the  other  side,  won't  be  back  before 
winter."  Andrews  looked  worried  as  he  spoke. 

"Damn  it,  I  couldn't  do  it  anyhow;  I've  prom- 
ised to  go  to  the  Adirondacks." 

Briarley  glanced  at  him.    "Another  woman?" 

"Several,  Jack  and  his  wife  will  be  along." 
Even  in  the  intimacy  of  their  friendship  Rich- 
mond Briarley  had  never  asked  that  much  be- 
fore. Glenn  Andrews  alone  knew  how  hard  was 
the  sense  of  finding  himself  bound  through  over- 
whelming conviction  of  duty. 

"I  was  out  to  dinner  with  Jack  last  night.  You 
couldn't  look  at  him  and  doubt  such  a  thing  as 
love,  yet  Marie  was  always  a  little  tyrant.  It 


156  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

made  me  wonder,  after  all,  what  kind  of  a  wife 
made  a  man  happiest." 

"I  can  tell  you,  a  dead  one." 

"Honestly  I  believe  he  would  have  gone  stark 
mad  if  he  hadn't  won  her.  He  worships  her." 

"He'd  have  come  out  without  a  scratch.  My 
observation  is  that  a  man  can  get  over  not  get- 
ting a  girl  easier  than  he  can  get  over  getting 
her." 

"I  believe  in  marriage — it's  the  only  decent 
way  to  live,  but  I  wouldn't  care  for  my  wife  the 
way  he  does;  my  regard  wouldn't  have  that  self- 
sacrifice  in  it.  I'd  want  a  woman  to  minister  to 
my  comfort,  put  mustard  plasters  on  me  when  I 
was  sick." 

"But  the  wife.  What  would  she  get  in  return?" 

"My  name,  for  the  sake  of  which  I  would  sac- 
rifice the  most  precious  gift  that  could  come  into 
a  man's  life — a  woman  whom  I  could  have  loved 
and  by  whom  I  could  have  been  loved." 

"A  pretty  theory,  but,  ye  gods!  the  practice." 
Briarley  laid  down  his  napkin  and  leaned  back 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  157 

from  the  table,  staring  at  the  other  contempla- 
tively. 

"Andrews,  for  a  man  of  your  logic,  you  are 
confoundedly  disappointing.  I'd  have  thought 
you'd  have  very  fantastic  ideals  of  marriage — of 
the  woman  that  was  to  make  your  home.  You 
claim  that  your  philosophy  is  in  straight  lines. 
There  are  two  ways  of  making  a  straight  line, 
horizontal  and  perpendicular,  then  they  cross. 
You  think  it  is  infamous  to  marry  for  money, 
and  you  have  tabooed  your  pet  hobby,"  he  said 
with  an  ironical  curl  of  the  lip.  "Five  years  ago, 
before  you  had  got  your  bearings,  you  might 
have  humored  such  a  whimsical  freak  of  that  in- 
dividuality of  yours,  but  now  you  would  strug- 
gle devilishly  before  you  would  spoil  your  life." 

"I  have  theories,  not  just  to  talk  about,  but  to 
live  by.  My  philosophy  is  extraordinarily  simple. 
You  can't  have  the  pie  and  eat  it  too." 

With  a  reflective  survey  of  his  friend,  Briarley 
commenced  with  a  kind  of  confidential  frankness. 

"If  you  are  to  make  marriage  a  commodity, 


158  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

why  not  be  brutally  practical?  You  are  a  very 
decent  sort  of  a  chap,  and  fame,  for  you,  is  on 
the  up  grade.  You  could  marry  money.  A  poor 
married  man  might  as  well  be  a  street-car  mule 
and  be  done  with  it.  Talk  about  it  being  easier 
for  a  camel  to  go  through  the  eye  of  a  needle  than 
a  rich  man  to  go  to  heaven,  why  it's  easier  for  a 
whole  drove  of  them  to  get  through  than  for  man 
to  get  anywhere  without  money." 

"You  are  very  good  to  care  anything  about  it, 
but  I  have  quite  decided  in  my  mind  what  I  shall 
do  with  that  problem,"  Glenn  announced  with 
resolute  calmness.  The  other  lit  a  cigar,  and 
leaned  back  in  comfort. 

"I'll  swear  you  provoke  me,  and  I  don't  know 
why  I  should  give  a  hang.  Self-will  sometimes 
degenerates — then  it  is  stubbornness — but  I 
suppose  every  fellow  has  a  right  to  sign  his  own 
death  warrant  if  he  chooses,  and  failure  is  a  death 
warrant." 

"There  are  some  things  you  know  and  some 
that  you  don't  know." 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  159 

"And  a  devilish  lot  that  nobody  will  ever 
know,"  said  Briarley,  as  he  flicked  the  ashes  from 
his  cigar. 

There  was  a  tender  spot  in  his  iron  heart  for 
Glenn  Andrews.  He  was  too  noble,  too  talented, 
to  lose  in  sacrifice  the  possibilities  of  so  brilliant 
a  future. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THEY  were  strolling  together  in  the  art  gal- 
lery. It  was  the  first  time  that  Glenn  had  seen 
Esther  since  returning  from  his  vacation.  He 
stopped  to  admire  a  picture,  for  the  second  time, 
pointing  out  its  beauties  for  her.  She  appre- 
ciated his  interpretations,  and  her  acute  under- 
standing grew  more  beautiful  to  him. 

"I  never  look  at  such  work,"  he  said,  "with- 
out wondering  what  it  cost  its  creator.  The  gift 
of  art  is  great,  sacred,  yet  it  is  one  long  term  of 
self-denial." 

"I  know  that,"  Esther  assented.  She  was  be- 
ginning to  realize  its  draining  demai;ds.  She 
had  brightened  a  trifle  to-day  in  spite  of  it.  A 
little  of  the  old  impulsive  blooming  beauty  had 
[160] 


As  The  Hart  Panteth*  161 

come  back.  The  brisk  walk  through  the  park,  in 
the  keen,  sweet  autumn  weather  might  have 
heightened  that — and  Glenn's  return  doubtless 
had  something  to  do  with  it. 

"Mrs.  Low  has  a  picture  in  her  gallery  by  this 
same  artist.  She  has  one  of  the  finest  private 
galleries  in  the  city.  You  shall  see  it,  I  believe, 
now  that  she's  back.  I  promised  her  I'd  bring 
you  to  one  of  her  receptions.  She's  noted  for 
having  people  who  are  amazingly  clever,  or  beau- 
tiful or  something  of  the  sort.  Fortunately  I 
come  under  the  class,  'Should  auld  acquaintance 
be  forgot?'  But  you  are  to  do  your  turn.  She  ex- 
pects it.  We  will  go  next  Tuesday  to  her  open- 
ing night.  You  will  see  a  live  lord.  Her  daugh- 
ter, who  married  one,  brought  him  home  with 
her." 

"Will  it  make  me  like  you  any  less?" 

"I  should  hope  not.    Rather  more,  for  he  has 

brutal  manners,  and  you  would  never  think  she 

held  a  higher  place  than  his  stenographer.    But 

she  doesn't  mind  that,  she  has  a  title.    He  draws 


162         .  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

his  allowance  from  her  and  his  inspiration  from 
elsewhere.  I  fancy  they  are  rather  contented." 

"Contented!"  Esther  lifted  a  solemn  face  to 
him. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  a  marriage  without  love 
would  crush  all  that  was  sweetest  and  finest  in  a 
woman's  nature.  Marriage  for  love  is  the  dear- 
est gift  to  any  soul — it  is  the  highest  ideal  of 
God's  world."  She  was  in  one  of  her  intense 
moods. 

"But  if  it  be  for  anything  else?"  He  encour- 
aged her  to  go  on. 

"It's  a  desecration.  Love  is  not  only  the 
holiest  thing  in  the  life  of  a  woman,  but  it's  life 
itself  for  the  man.  It  makes  him  whatever  he 
becomes.  The  righteous  altar-vow  is  a  delight 
and  to  obey  is  the  cry  of  the  heart  if  it  speaks  the 
words  with  the  lips." 

"You  know  we  never  agreed  upon  that  sub- 
ject. I  consider  marriage  merely  an  incident 
in  life." 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  163 

"But  the  one  decisive  incident  of  it  all,"  she  re- 
turned. 

They  had  left  the  gallery  and  were  going 
through  the  park.  His  glance  wandered  often 
from  her  face  to  a  glad  contemplation  of  the 
vivid  coloring  of  the  woods. 

"Mightn't  a  man  marry  for  honor?"  finally  he 
asked. 

"Give  me  an  example." 

"I  am  not  trying  to  convert  you,"  be  said,  dis- 
claiming all  responsibility. 

"Tell  me  of  a  case?" 

His  face  contracted  nervously.  "Let's  talk 
about  something  else." 

With  a  little  impatient  gesture,  "Oh,  give  me 
an  instance,  it  will  keep  me  from  imagining 
things."  She  stopped  by  a  rustic  seat  with 
an  independent  lift  of  the  head  and  would 
go  no  further.  She  felt  that  she  deserved 
his  confidence  and  trust.  Upon  her  face  were 
tears  of  pained  emotion.  She  did  not  know  her 


1 64  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

real  place  in  his  life  and  whenever  she  struggled 
for  it  her  suffering  was  intense. 

There  was  a  pause.  Glenn  decided  to  humor 
her.  Taking  a  seat  beside  her,  he  began  in  his 
tone  of  tranquil  philosophy: 

"Suppose  a  man — young — under  an  infatua- 
tion, becomes  engaged  to  a  girl.  When  he  is 
older,  his  ideas  change;  he  gets  over  it,  she 
doesn't.  Although  he  has  a  sincere  regard  and 
respect  for  her,  in  his  heart  there  is  another  ideal. 
He  regrets  being  bound.  What  should  he  do? 

"I  hate  the  word  'bound.'  Marriage  is  not  to 
bind,  but  to  privilege.  Without  love  it  would 
be  nothing  more  than  slavery.  Every  human 
soul  revolts  at  that. 

"But  an  engagement  is  like  a  gambling  debt;  it 
has  no  witnesses.  It  puts  a  man  upon  his  honor. 

"Might  he  not  have  the  nobility  to  assume  his 
vows,  without  the  fortitude  to  endure  them  man- 
fully? That  would  make  each  think  nothing  of 
love  and  little  of  life.  I  believe  it  is  impossible 
for  a  man  to  be  true  to  his  wife  with  another 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  165 

woman's  image  in  his  heart;  in  spite  of  outward 
appearances  the  emptiness  is  there — convention 
cannot  crush  out  nature.  If  he  took  a  vow  like 
that,  he'd  be  false  to  it;  hypocracy  is  dishonor." 
She  suddenly  fronted  him. 

"What  would  you  do  if  you  were  the  man?" 

"Oh,  don't  make  an  example  of  me,"  he  said 
in  a  hard  voice.  "You  know  me  well  enough 
to  guess  what  I  would  do." 

She  turned  her  eyes  to  his  face;  her  expression 
changed.  "You  would  be  true  to  what  you 
thought  was  your  honor." 

"I  hope  I  would  fulfill  any  promise  I  should 
make."  He  had  always  had  himself  in  com- 
mand, yet  he  was  sometimes  conscious  of  a  fear 
that  Esther  might  have  dreamed  some  touch  of 
heroism  in  his  nature,  which  was  not  there.  Her 
ideal  of  him  had  been  impressed  upon  her  im- 
maturity. 

"I  have  a  story  about  a  man's  honor,"  she  said 
after  an  awkward  silence,  lifting  a  small  paper 
volume  in  her  hand.  "The  young  man  on  my 


1 66  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

floor  asked  me  to  take  it  and  read  it.  He  said  it 
was  'simply  great.' " 

"  'Simply  great/  was  it?"  Glenn  said,  taking 
the  book.  "Certainly  he  is  bold  and  uncon- 
ventional enough  to  presume  to  offer  you  a  book 
when  you  have  scarcely  a  speaking  acquaintance 
with  him." 

"He  brought  it  to  my  door  one  rainy  day;  I 
took  it  as  a  kindness."  Reading  the  French 
title,  Glenn's  eyes  took  on  the  glint  of  steel. 

"Have  you  read  it?"  he  asked. 

"No,  I  thought  we  might  begin  it  together  to- 
day." 

"Well,  we  won't,"  he  told  her,  frankly.  "It  is 
not  the  kind  for  you  to  read.  When  the  young 
man  inquires  for  his  book  you  can  send  him  tc 
me." 

Glenn  was  never  more  savagely  angry  as  he 
doubled  the  book  and  thrust  it  into  his  pocket. 
He  would  keep  from  her  that  part  of  the  world's 
evil  at  least. 

"Have  I  done  anything  you  don't  like?" 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  167 

"No,  but  it  maddens  me  to  see  anybody  try  to 
impose  upon  you.  Don't  accept  any  more  cour- 
tesies from  that  class;  I'll  bring  you  all  the  books 
that  you  want  to  read." 

"You  are  very  good;  I'll  try  to  remember  that," 
she  promised.  He  hoped  she  would.  His  care 
of  her  was  like  the  fond  tending  of  a  flower  that 
has  been  unwittingly  left  in  a  fetid  atmosphere. 


CHAPTER  XL 

MRS.  Low's  receptions  were  more  cordial 
and  less  formal  than  the  usual  social  affairs.  Glenn 
Andrews  and  Esther  arrived  late.  The  richest 
Oriental  splendor  surrounded  them.  There  were 
a  thousand  rare  souvenirs  of  foreign  lands  to 
please  the  eye.  The  colors  in  the  tapestries  and 
rugs  were  of  that  exquisitely  tender  hue  that 
comes  only  from  age.  The  largest  rug,  covered 
with  inscriptions  from  Saadi,  the  Persian  poet, 
seemed  to  have  caught  more  of  the  charm  and 
sentiment  of  the  Orient.  Glenn  was  calling  Es- 
.-  ther's  attention  to  it  while  they  waited  for  a 
chance  to  speak  to  the  hostess.  Red  lights 
glowed  warmly  through  the  iron-fretted  lanterns 
swinging  low.  A  hidden  harpist  was  playing 
[168] 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  169 

soft,  sweeping  strains  of  sound.  Mrs.  Low 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  late  arrivals.  She  met 
them  with  hands  outstretched,  a  radiant  smile 
of  welcome  upon  her  face. 

"Ah,  Glenn,  Miss  Powel;  charmed,  I  assure 
you.  Mr.  Kent  has  been  waiting  to  have  this 
young  lady  accompany  him,"  she  said,  as  that 
gentleman  joined  them. 

"You  came  just  in  time,  Miss  Powel.  Our 
friend,  Mr.  Andrews,  has  told  me  that  you  have 
been  good  enough  to  take  the  trouble  to  learn 
the  'Serenade'  that  is  to  be  in  our  new  opera. 
Mrs.  Low  has  out-talked  me  and  made  me  feel 
that  my  friends  should  be  first  to  pass  judgment 
before  the  critics  get  a  chance." 

Esther  hesitated  a  moment,  smiling. 

"That  will  be  charming,"  Glenn  whispered  to 
her,  inclining  his  head.  He  smiled  slightly  as  his 
eyes  met  hers. 

His  approval  was  what  she  had  waited  for — 
that  was  plain.  The  next  moment  she  had  gra- 
ciously indicated  her  willingness  by  taking  up  her 


1 70  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

violin  that  Mrs.  Low  had  sent  for  before  she 
came. 

The  sight  of  Stephen  Kent  at  the  piano  and 
Esther  beside  him  made  the  rooms  silent  in  an 
instant  and  stilled  the  unseen  harpist.  Glenn  An- 
drews kept  close  watch  upon  the  crowd  as  it 
stood  in  mute  attention.  It  was  to  note  how  she 
was  received.  He  had  forgotten  his  share  in  the 
honors.  Stephen  Kent  sang  the  passionately 
poetic  words;  the  exquisite  commingling  of  the 
voice  and  violin  suddenly  awoke  in  the  poet  the 
thought  of  what  sincerity  of  the  soul  there  was 
in  those  words. 

In  the  heat  of  the  enthusiasm  that  followed 
the  encore  some  one  grasped  Glenn  Andrews' 
hands.  "And  those  lines  are  perfectly  exquisite. 
I  am  wild  to  hear  all  of  your  libretto." 

"Oh,  indeed!"  he  answered,  staring,  and  that 
moment  it  was  the  effort  of  his  life  to  know  what 
she  meant. 

"Libretto?"  he  said  to  himself.  "Oh,  when  I 
heard  such  playing  I  forgot  I  had  written  any- 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  171 

thing,"  he  declared,  with  a  laugh.  He  was  ex- 
tremely shocked  to  discover  that  he  had  com- 
posed the  words. 

"Aren't  you  a  little  crazy?"  the  expression  on 
her  face  asked,  as  Mrs.  Low  came  up  and  led 
him  away.  She  had  become  devotedly  attached 
to  him  during  their  life  in  Paris. 

"If  that  is  a  fair  sample  of  your  opera,  it  will 
be  most  enchanting."  The  hearty  words  car- 
ried with  them  something  of  the  sincere  interest 
she  felt. 

"You  are  very  kind,  Mrs.  Low.  Your  approval 
is  a  great  compliment  to  our  poor  efforts.  You,  of 
course,  know  its  success  means  a  better  future 
to  both  of  us;  the  financial  part  of  it  being  of  no 
slight  importance." 

"It's  going  to  succeed;  it  has  the  merit  and  the 
backing.  Give  yourself  no  anxiety.  Kent  cer- 
tainly has  done  his  part  well.  It  is  his  master 
effort." 

Mrs.  Low  sank  deep  in  the  gorgeous  cushions 
and  looked  across  to  where  Esther  stood  be- 


172  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

seiged.  She  was  so  unspoiled  and  direct  of  man- 
ner. There  was  something  picturesquely  South- 
ern in  her  simple  gown. 

"Tell  me  something  more  about  her.  Is  she 
in  earnest  or  does  she  play  with  her  art  for  the 
same  reason  that  a  kitten  plays  with  her  ball?" 

"Oh,  she  is  in  dead  earnest,  Mrs.  Low.  She 
is  overworking  in  her  enthusiasm." 

Glenn  caught  Esther's  eye  as  he  spoke.  There 
was  a  touch  of  pathos  in  the  smile. 

"That  will  never  do.  You  might  persuade  her 
to  take  it  more  slowly."  She  stopped  a  moment, 
looking  up  with  guarded  eyes.  Glenn  Andrews 
was  not  big  print  to  her.  The  depths  of  his  na- 
ture had  to  be  read  between  the  lines.  In  her 
heart  she  wondered  if  he  would  resent  the  ques- 
tioning. 

He  studied  her  magnificent  repose,  that 
matched  his. 

"She  has  genius.  I  have  become  quite  inter- 
ested in  her  already,"  said  Mrs.  Low. 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  173 

A  shade  of  relief  passed  over  Glenn's  features 
as  he  heard  this. 

"I  have  known  her  for  years.  The  poor  child 
has  neither  parents  nor  friends  to  restrain  or  aid 
her.  She  has  not  reached  that  point  in  her  art 
where  she  can  earn  a  dollar.  I  have  been  think- 
ing many  ways  of  trying  to  help  her.  It  must 
be  some  way  by  which  she  feels  that  she  is  earn- 
ing it.  I  know  her  so  well." 

"It  is  not  often  that  I  ask  such  close  ques- 
tions, but  this  time  it  is  because  of  my  interest. 
What  are  you  to  her?" 

Her  tone  did  not  imply  idle  curiosity.  He 
clasped  his  hands  thoughtfully. 

"Honestly,  I  don't  know  how  to  answer  you. 
I  am  her  friend,  brother,  critic — I  suppose.  If 
I  had  to  select  one  word  to  express  my  relation 
to  her,  I  should  say,  chaperone." 

"Chaperone,"  she  repeated,  with  charming 
grace.  "That  is  a  virgin  field  for  a  man's  possi- 
bilities, but  since  I  think  of  it,  I  had  a  great  deal 


174  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

rather  trust  some  men  I  know  to  look  after  a 
child  of  mine  than  most  women." 

"Coming  here  alone,  as  Miss  Powel  did,  and 
with  very  little  capital,  it  was  hard  for  her  to  find 
herself  face  to  face  with  the  world.  But  she  has 
determination.  She  actually  steals  hours  from  her 
rest.  She  must  have  relief  from  the  strain  or  it 
will  crush  all  the  life  out  of  her  soul." 

"Oh,  yes;  something  must  be  done,"  answer- 
ing his  intensity  with  a  sweet  interest.  "Couldn't 
I  help  you  in  some  way?" 

He  reflected  seriously  a  moment. 

"I  believe  you  could.  Suppose  you  got  her  to 
play  here  four  times  during  the  month  and  let 
her  believe  you  had  rewarded  her  by  paying  her 
twenty-five  dollars  each  time.  I  would  give  you 
my  check  for  the  hundred  dollars  each  month." 

"That  will  be  just  the  thing.  Later  she  will 
be  able  to  get  some  good  engagements  at  draw- 
ing room  recitals." 

"Would  you  indeed  be  willing  to  let  me  help 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  175 

her  through  you,  Mrs.  Low?"  he  asked,  with 
some  confusion. 

"I  am  only  too  happy  to  be  able  to  add  that 
little  to  so  loyal  a  project." 

"Thank  you.  Your  co-operation  means  more 
to  me  than  you  can  possibly  imagine." 

"Your  friend  has  been  telling  me  of  your  work, 
and  how  brave  you  are,"  Mrs.  Low  said,  as  she 
took  Esther's  hand  at  parting.  "I  shall  come 
soon  to  see  you.  I  think  I  can  add  a  little  sun- 
shine to  your  life." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

GLENN  saw  Esther  a  few  days  afterward  and 
found  her  unusually  cheerful.  Her  face  had  a 
new  light,  and  she  had  good  reason  for  it.  She 
spoke  with  a  bouyancy  of  expression  that  Glenn 
had  not  lately  heard.  She  told  how  Mrs.  Low 
had  arranged  for  her  to  play  during  the  entire 
winter  at  her  receptions.  This  simplified  the 
complex  future.  She  reflected  a  little  more  calmly 
on  her  condition.  All  these  months  she  had 
tried  to  think  of  some  way  out  of  it.  She  had 
thought  of  everything — except  giving  up. 

She  made   friends.     She  was    interested    in 

everything.     In  her  appreciation  and  confiding 

ways  Mrs.  Low  found  a  degree  of  satisfaction  and 

intense  pleasure  in  the  reflected  happiness  from 

['79 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  177 

Esther's  life.  Glenn  encouraged  the  tonic  of 
social  life  for  her  as  something  needful  to  every- 
body. Under  his  own  eye,  he  was  willing  to  let 
her  glimpse  at  it  in  all  its  phases;  the  soullessness 
of  it,  its  petty  intrigues  and  foibles.  The  flaw- 
lessness  of  her  own  mind  would  itself  be  a  shield. 
Her  contact  with  such  frivolity  would  be  like  that 
of  satin  and  sandpaper.  With  intense  interest 
he  watched  her  career  during  the  season.  He 
was  her  severest  and  most  unsparing  critic,  al- 
though he  sometimes  believed  that  it  hurt  him 
more  than  her.  Their  lives  were  moving  along 
together  with  unconscious  accord.  There  was  an 
undercurrent  of  deeper  sympathy  lying  dormant. 
He  was  making  her  a  part  of  his  life.  He  would 
have  denied  it,  however,  had  any  man  put  this 
truth  into  words  and  accused  him.  A  thousand 
times  he  had  told  himself,  reassuringly,  that  he 
was  commander  still.  He  reasoned  that  her  art 
would  soon  be  sufficiently  lofty,  sufficiently  com- 
plete for  her  to  hear  any  decree  that  fate  might 
read  to  her.  New  friends,  fresh  scenes,  homage  to 


178  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

her  art — all  these  would  help  to  fill  her  life.  This 
was  a  conviction  born  of  his  own  philosophy. 
He  fancied  he  could  already  perceive  a  more  in- 
dependent air;  a  less  frequent  turning  to  him  for 
guidance  and  protection.  This  elusive,  half- 
mysterious  charm  she  had  acquired,  he  misinter- 
preted. It  was  largely  due  to  the  different  lights 
that  had  been  thrown  upon  him. 

She  had  been  repeatedly  stunned  by  chance- 
heard  remarks  of  his  betrothal.  When  Glenn 
heard  that  Esther's  name  was  to  figure  promin- 
ently in  the  most  brilliant  recitals  of  the  season, 
there  was  a  buoyant  sweetness  in  the  frank  radi- 
ance of  hope,  the  eager  expectancy  and  passion- 
ate faith  in  her  ability.  She  had  been  tasting 
some  of  the  fruition  of  her  toil.  Of  this  he  was 
proud. 

The  night  came.  It  was  a  fashionable  throng 
that  poured  into  the  Metropolitan.  The  fascina- 
ting twirl  of  jewelled  lorgnettes  and  the  flashing 
movement  of  the  vast  array  of  wealth  and  beauty 
made  the  two  wide,  innocent  eyes  that  peered  out 


A s  The  Hart  Panteth.  1 79 

from  behind  the  curtain,  reel — drunk  with  the 
wine  of  enthusiasm;  this  little  atom  who  was  to 
win  or  lose  before  this  great  audience  of  con- 
noiseurs.  Win  she  must.  No  girl  could  shake 
off  the  memory  of  so  public  a  humiliation.  The 
sight  confused  her.  She  trembled  a  little  and 
slipped  back  to  her  dressing-room.  "I  feel  as 
though  the  judgment  day  were  at  hand,"  she 
said.  "My  heart  is  bigger  than  my  whole  body." 

"You  darling,  it  was  always  that."  Mrs.  Low 
gathered  her  proudly  in  her  arms,  as  she  spoke. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  Esther  left  a  warm 
kiss  on  her  throat.  "Up  to  the  very  same  thing 
you  were,  looking  for  a  particular  face,  I  know." 

"I'll  take  another  survey  presently.  Of  course 
he  will  be  here.  Oh!  what  a  dream  of  a  gown; 
you  look  like  a  vision  from  heaven."  Mrs.  Low 
eyed  her  closely,  fearful  lest  the  misplacement  of 
the  slightest  detail  might  mar  the  perfect  whole. 

"This  must  be  the  laurel  crowning  of  your  sea- 
son." 


180  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

Her  delicate  face  was  beaming;  she  felt  it 
rather  than  hoped  it. 

"This  ordeal  means  everything  to  me.  I  am 
not  as  frightened  as  I  expected.  Honestly,  I  feel 
as  if  I  could  make  music  without  strings  or  bow. 
Something  in  the  very  air  charges  me  with  a 
wild,  savage  inspiration.  Go,  look  again,  now. 
I  know  he  is  here." 

Several  minutes  passed  and  she  did  not  return, 
so  Esther  went  out  to  the  wings  while  the  first 
numbers  were  being  rendered. 

"Now,  my  dear!"  whispered  Mrs.  Low,  as  the 
call  came  for  Esther.  "Do  your  best.  Glenn  is  in 
the  right  of  the  centre  aisle,  half-way  back  with 
the  woman  in  pink.  I  know  you  won't  disap- 
point him." 

These  words  came  from  the  gentlest  heart  in 
the  world,  with  no  idea  of  their  tragic  signifi- 
cance. 

Esther  stepped  to  her  place  on  the  stage. 

The  bored  faces  of  the  leaders  of  the  orchestra 
brightened.  Every  instrument  was  ready  to  re- 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  181 

spond  to  the  first  notes  of  her  obligate.  Even  in 
that  surging  human  sea  she  was  conscious  of 
dumbly  searching  for  Glenn  Andrews.  As  she 
stood  slightly  swaying  with  the  first  few  strains, 
she  saw  him — his  head  thrown  back  with  a  su- 
perb gesture — his  features  all  alight  from 
the  ideal  soul  within — his  dreamy,  mys- 
tical eyes  full  of  expectancy.  He  was  in 
a  state  of  rapturous  anticipation.  In  the 
"woman  in  pink"  she  recognized  as  being 
the  one  with  whom  society  had  intimately 
coupled  his  name. 

What  a  heart-thrust!  She  blanched  at  the 
thought  of  it.  And  of  all  the  nights  of  her  life, 
this  one — her  very  own — was  most  cruel. 

There  was  a  rush  of  resentment  through  her 
being,  stronger,  for  the  instant,  than  everything. 
She  could  not  resist  its  influence;  discord  fol- 
lowed discord  until  the  orchestra  was  forced  to 
stop. 

The  scene  before  her  whirled  so  fast  that  it 
made  her  dizzy.  She  felt  blindly  across  the 


1 82  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

strings  for  a  harmony  which  she  had  lost.  Glenn 
Andrews  was  conscious  of  a  curious  tightening 
at  the  throat  as  he  saw  her  pitiful  struggles.  His 
heart  almost  stopped.  She  was  failing.  This  was 
maddening.  He  had  had  many  disappointments 
in  his  life,  but  this  was  one  he  could  not  face. 
Abruptly  he  rose  and  rushed  out  into  the  aisle. 
The  humiliation  was  too  bitter. 

There  was  a  little  ripple  of  excitement.  Esther 
saw  him  going;  but  still  did  not  realize  that  his 
seat  there  had  only  been  a  coincidence.  She 
hated,  she  adored  him.  The  moment  seemed  su- 
preme of  all  the  moments  of  her  life. 

A  feeling  of  longing  unutterable  came  over 
her — longing  to  recall  him — a  feeling  that  rose 
to  ever  fuller  power  until  her  whole  being  vi- 
brated with  the  desire.  She  tightened  her  grasp 
of  the  instrument  to  steady  her  convulsive  tremb- 
ling. Glenn  stopped.  A  new  thrill  was  creeping 
through  the  music.  Her  eyes  evinced  a  conquer- 
ing fire  born  of  internal  despair.  She  was  playing 
now  as  if  inspired  by  some  power  above  and  be- 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  183 

yond  all  things  of  earth.  Through  it  all  ran  the 
shrill,  sweet  strains  of  her  long-pent  soul.  Glenn 
stood  immovable,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her. 

The  sublime  passion  throbbing  through  the 
music  was  a  sound  that  a  human  soul  could  not 
resist,  as  if  the  player's  whole  nature  were  speak- 
ing to  him.  It  pleaded,  commanded,  until  it 
smote  each  tense  chord  of  his  life — compelled 
completest  harmony.  He  followed  with  eager 
looks  every  gesture  of  her  bow.  His  lips  broke 
into  a  proud  smile,  revealing  all  he  felt.  It  ended 
in  an  echo,  transcendent,  sovereign,  supreme. 
The  violin  fell  at  her  feet.  The  very  air  was 
saturated  with  the  incense  of  applause. 

He  awakened  as  though  from  a  dream  to  share 
in  it.  He  grew  almost  hysterical  as  the  audience 
begged  for  an  encore.  The  curtain  rose.  Esther, 
flushed  with  her  success,  almost  gasped  as  she 
reappeared.  There  was  a  rain  of  flowers,  falling 
from  everywhere.  Glenn  felt  his  heart  beat  after 
her  in  an  ecstacy  of  longing.  The  curtain  rose 
again  and  again.  He  had  never  known  the 


1 84  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

height  or  depth  of  their  natures  before.  He 
adored  her — Esther,  whose  growth  in  beauty, 
power,  glory  he  had  watched  with  boyish  ten- 
derness. All  that  he  had  admired,  and  had  not 
dared  to  hope  for,  were  united  in  her.  From  the 
depths  of  his  being  there  came  to  him  the  first 
over-mastering  passion  of  his  life — in  a  love  that 
he  had  forbidden  himself. 


THE  WOMAN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

GLENN  sent  his  congratulations  with  a  lot  of 
flowers.  He  did  not  trust  himself  to  call.  That 
was  not  indifference,  but  too  much  feeling.  The 
following  week  he  sent  her  a  few  lines : 

"My  dear  Esther: 

"It  will  be  impossible  for  me  to  take  you  to  the 
musicale,  but  I  have  arranged  to  have  Mr.  Kent 
call  for  you,  and  I  feel  sure  that  you  will  be  in 
good  hands." 

This  note  of  mild  regret  made  her  a  little  cross, 
as  it  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  consented  to 
have  her  go  out  alone  with  another  man.  There 


1 86  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

seemed  nothing  else  to  do  but  submit,  wash  a 
tear  of  vexation  from  her  face,  and  be  ready  to 
go  when  Mr.  Kent  called. 

From  Glenn  Andrews'  point  of  view  this  priv- 
ilege was  an  endorsement  of  the  man  he  had  se- 
lected. She  was  his  treasure  and  he  could  never 
entrust  it  to  any  man  in  whom  he  had  not  the 
staunchest  faith.  Later  he  learned  through  Ste- 
phen Kent  that  they  had  gone  together  and  the 
affair  had  been  as  pleasant  as  usual.  That  was 
satisfactory.  He  would  have  them  go  again  to- 
gether. 

Ever  since  the  concert  Glenn  had  tried  to  think 
only  of  his  work.  His  calmness  at  such  a  crisis 
at  first  led  him  into  the  belief  that  it  would  be 
easy  to  hold  himself  in  check.  The  revelation 
that  had  come  to  him  upon  that  night  had  been 
the  work  of  a  strong  thing  but  for  a  moment. 
What  he  was  now  he  would  remain.  How  little 
did  he  dream  of  what  a  sharp  conflict  he  would 
have  in  the  strife  to  conquer  himself. 

He  could  not  stay  away  too  long — he  looked 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  187 

upon  it  in  a  measure  as  his  duty  to  see  how  the 
infrequent  visits  were  affecting  her. 

It  was  not  until  he  was  taking  up  his  hat  to 
leave  that  he  approached  the  subject  of  Stephen 
Kent  as  her  escort  to  the  next  musicale. 

"He  will  be  very  glad  to  have  you  go  with 
him."  Glenn  pressed  her  hand  in  his  and  he  saw 
tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Esther!"  He  laid  aside  his  hat,  drew  her 
down  beside  him  on  the  divan.  He  could  not 
leave  until  he  had  traced  those  tears  to  their 
source.  What  does  this  mean,  tell  me?" 

"Oh,  don't  ask  me  that!"  She  folded  her 
hands  before  her  as  if  in  mute  emphasis. 

He  was  not  suspicious,  but  this  made  him 
afraid — he  felt  as  if  something  had  struck  him. 

"Did  Stephen  Kent  dare  to  hurt  you.  If  so, 
it's  my  fault — I  introduced  you  to  him." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Glenn,  let  it  go,  but  nothing  would 
induce  me  to  go  with  him  again."  She  felt  the 
color  go  out  of  her  face  as  she  became  conscious 
of  his  fixed  gaze. 


1 88  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"Where  has  your  frankness  and  freedom 
gone?"  He  drew  her  toward  him  and  compelled 
her  to  meet  his  eyes. 

His  voice  was  full  of  power. 

"You  must  tell  me  what  Stephen  Kent  has 
done." 

"You  like  him;  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  angry, 
disappointed."  She  made  no  effort  to  free  her- 
self. 

He  could  not  draw  a  confession  from  her  as 
he  sat  some  minutes  waiting.  "Have  you  that 
little  confidence  in  my  friendship?" 

"I  don't  want  to  make  you  feel  that  you  have 
not  the  friendship  of  that  man." 

"Then  you  know  that  I  haven't." 

"I  know  that  he  told  me  horrid,  false  things 
of  your  life  abroad,  and  tried  to  make  me  lean 
upon  him  instead  of  you.  He  tried  to  persuade 
me  to  do  all  the  things  and  go  to  all  the  places 
that  you  had  warned  me  of.  If  I  had  known  by 
nothing  else  that  would  have  made  me  know  it 
would  be  wrong — wickedly  wrong." 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  189 

"Wolf!"  He  could  scarcely  hold  his  grasp  for 
the  trembling  of  his  hands. 

"I'll  settle  with  Stephen  Kent,"  he  said,  aloud. 
"He  must  answer  to  me  for  this." 

Glenn  Andrews'  face  looked  manlier  than  ever 
in  its  rage. 

Esther's  heart  stood  still  for  a  moment,  then 
beat  wildly  in  its  fear. 

"Don't  risk  yourself  for  me.  I'm  so  sorry 
I  told  you." 

"Now  I  shall  take  care  of  myself  and  of  him 
also.  Don't  be  fretting  about  the  outcome.  This 
is  the  last  time  you  need  be  annoyed  with  it." 
He  stroked  her  hair,  and  there  was  a  calming 
tenderness  in  the  way  he  did  it. 

She  could  have  borne  the  indignity  alone  if 
only  Glenn  had  not  brought  the  subject  up.  She 
had  never  meant  to  tell  it  to  anyone. 

Glenn  left  the  house  and  went  at  once,  only 
to  find  that  Mr.  Kent  was  not  at  home.  Several 
days  in  succession  he  called  with  the  same  result. 
He  wondered  what  impulse  would  kad  him  tq 


1 90  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

if  he  should  meet  him  by  chance.  Delay  could 
scarcely  weaken  his  determination  to  even  up 
this  score. 

When  Glenn  went  to  the  regular  meeting  of 
the  club  a  few  days  later,  it  was  a  little  shock  of 
surprise  that  the  name  of  Stephen  Kent  was  up 
for  membership.  With  a  delicate  tact  he  avoided 
any  part  of  the  proceedings  that  was  not  forced 
upon  him.  When  it  came  his  turn  to  cast  his  bal- 
lot for  the  man  of  whom  he  could  have  said  a 
week  ago  he  was  all  honor,  he  started,  trembling 
violently  as  he  let  fall  from  his  hand — a  black 
ball. 

The  results  of  the  ballot  came  as  a  great  sur- 
prise to  every  man  of  them  except  the  one  who 
had  turned  the  course.  Questioning,  no  doubt, 
went  round  the  room  and  there  was  a  ripple  of 
comment  passing  among  the  groups  after  the 
meeting  was  over  and  the  members  were  going 
out.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  one  man  met  Ste- 
phen Kent  and  told  him  the  result,  which  he  had 
come  over  to  learn,  The  disappointment  in  his 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  191 

face  was  intense  as  he  took  a  few  steps  more, 
taking  out  his  penknife  to  cut  his  cigar,  and  met 
Glenn  Andrews. 

"Look  here,  Andrews,  what  does  this  mean? 
They  tell  me  I  am  blackballed." 

"They  told  you  the  truth,"  he  said,  coolly. 

"Well!  that's  damned  strange."  Kent's  answer 
had  in  it  the  sting  of  humiliation. 

"If  I  knew  the  man  who  did  it,  I  would  thrash 
him  within  an  inch  of  his  life.  The  sneak!" 

Glenn  Andrews'  eyes  were  dilated  and  flashing. 

"Stephen  Kent,  you  don't  have  to  go  very  far 
to  find  him.  I  am  the  man." 

"You;  and  may  I  ask  why?" 

"Because  your  dishonorable  conduct  to  Miss 
Powel  proved  to  me  that  you  are  not  a  gentle- 
man." 

He  was  fearless  in  speech  and  action.  His 
exultant  manliness  made  the  other  cower. 

"A  man  generally  knows  the  lay  of  the  land. 
She  is  pretty  free." 


192  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"Free,  my  God!"  Glenn  Andrews'  face  flashed 
fire.  "You  are  a  liar!" 

The  next  moment  the  two  grappled.  A  crowd 
gathered  around  in  wild  excitement.  Before  they 
could  be  parted  the  battle  had  been  fought.  With 
the  first  lift  of  his  hand,  Stephen  Kent's  pen- 
knife had  slipped  across  and  cut  the  radial  artery 
of  Glenn  Andrews'  wrist.  Regardless  of  the  flow 
of  blood,  he  had  dealt  the  blow  that  laid  the 
other  at  his  feet. 


CHAPTER  II. 

IT  was  several  days  before  Glenn  felt  able  to 
resume  his  work.  He  kept  away  from  Esther 
until  he  could  give  himself  a  chance  to  recover 
from  the  acute  aenemia  from  which  he  suffered. 
Finally,  when  he  called,  he  found  that  she  had 
left  that  place,  and  her  address  could  not  be  given 
him. 

He  was  worried  and  bitterly  wounded. 

This  girl,  wild  of  heart,  full  of  all  sorts  of  emo- 
tions ,  full  of  unreasoning  impulses  who  had  once . 
been  easy  for  him  to  understand,  had  gained  a 
complexity  and  subtlety  new  to  him. 

Yet  he  could  do  nothing  now  but  treat  it  as  a 
recurrence  of  her  old  fits  of  childish  petulance. 
If,  by  some  unaccountable  chance,  there  was  any 


194         As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

finality  in  this  step  of  hers,  and  her  motive  was 
to  break  off  their  old  blameless  intimacy,  he 
would  watch  over  her  from  afar.  There  was  no 
malice  in  his  heart  for  her.  Nobody  could  make 
him  believe  a  story,  the  truth  of  which  would  be 
unworthy  of  her.  Yet  the  dim,  persistent  sense 
of  dissatisfaction  which  he  tried  so  hard  to  stifle, 
under  a  rush  of  work  and  recreation,  would  not 
vanish.  Time,  which  he  filled  with  the  fever  of 
his  literary  passion,  together  with  keeping  in 
touch  with  a  few  old  friends,  had  become  so 
strained,  so  intense,  that  in  spite  of  the  firm 
strength  he  had,  the  inordinate  will,  sheer  phy- 
sical weariness  conquered,  the  tense  nerves  for 
a  time  relaxed. 

It  was  in  the  latter  part  ot  April  that  Richmond 
Briarley  happened  to  stop  in  a  flower  store  to 
order  a  palm  for  some  friend.  At  the  counter 
stood  a  slender  girl.  There  was  something  very 
unusual  about  her  or  he  would  not  have  given 
her  a  moment's  thought,  nor  the  second  look. 

Her  hair  swept  back  in  deep  waves  from  her 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  195 

brow,  under  the  wide,  soft  hat.  The  dark  blue  of 
her  eyes  seemed  to  gently  motion  as  she  looked 
at  the  delicate  orchids  the  clerk  held  across  to 
her. 

"That's  what  I  want." 

Then  she  turned  away  as  he  went  to  wrap  them 
for  her.  She  felt  a  sudden  swelling  of  the  heart, 
as  she  faced  Richmond  Briarley. 

"How  do  you  do,  Miss  Powel,"  he  said  in 
acknowledgment  of  her  recognition. 

"I  have  quite  lost  track  of  you  since  our  friend 
Andrews  has  been  ill.  You'll  be  glad  to  know 
his  doctor  now  thinks  he  may  pull  through." 

"Mr.  Glenn  ill — dangerously  ill?"  She  was 
white  to  the  lips. 

The  look  on  her  face  he  would  never  forget 
while  he  lived. 

"Where?  Where?"  she  said,  eagerly  clasping 
her  hands.  "Let  me  go  to  him." 

"He  has  someone — you  can  do  nothing.  She 
does  everything." 


196  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

He  said  very  little  beyond  the  bare  statement, 
but  his  answer  added  to  the  pain  of  her  wound. 

There  was  nothing  she  could  do.  This  was  the 
bitterest,  crudest  thought — she  was  not  needed — 
she  who  would  have  died  to  spare  him  pain. 

Richmond  Briarley  knew  what  it  meant;  his 
heart  was  touched  for  her. 

"I'm  going  to  see  him  now,  if  you  care  to  send 
him  a  word." 

"Tell  him  how  sorry  I  am,  and  would  you  take 
these  flowers  to  him — orchids  are  his  favorite 
flowers.  I  was  going  to  wear  them  to  a  musicale 
to-night." 

"Certainly  I  will  take  them." 

"Wait  just  a  minute." 

She  took  the  pencil  of  her  chatelaine  and  wrote 
her  new  address  on  the  box;  her  fingers  were 
trembling,  so  she  doubted  if  he  would  recognize 
her  signature. 

She  smiled  a  little  as  he  lifted  his  hat,  when 
he  bade  her  good-by.  Pride  was  a  matter  of 
principle  with  her. 


As  The  Hart  Pantetk.  197 

What  she  suffered  in  the  days  that  came  after 
could  not  be  told. 

It  was  early  in  May  before  Glenn  was  able  to 
be  out  again. 

To  see  Esther  was  one  of  his  first  visits.  She 
greeted  him  with  a  grave,  solicitous  face. 

"I  am  glad  you  are  better.  I  didn't  even  know 
it  until  you  had  passed  the  crisis." 

"Whose  fault  was  it?"  That  old  perversity 
had  not  been  subdued  by  suffering. 

"Oh,  don't;  not  to-day,  anyhow."  She  put  her 
hands  up  and  gently  turned  down  the  collar  of  his 
coat.  "Come,  now;  lie  down  on  the  divan. 
You've  overdone  your  strength." 

His  fingers  in  her  folded  grasp  were  trem- 
bling. 

"I'm  not  equal  to  my  work  yet,"  he  said,  as  he 
stretched  out  among  the  pillows,  closing  his  eyes 
wearily. 

"I  wouldn't  have  come  if  it  had  not  been  your 
birthday,"  turning  his  head,  revealing  the  painful 
clearness  of  his  profile. 


198  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"I  remembered  you  had  someone  who  loved 
you;  to  think  of  it  always  before — now  there's 
nobody." 

Sitting  beside  him  she  stroked  his  forehead 
very  tenderly. 

"You  were  always  thoughtful  of  me." 

They  were  silent  for  a  time. 

"Sometimes  I  longed  for  the  warm,  sweet 
touch  of  your  hand  on  my  head,"  he  said  at  last; 
"it  throbbed  so,  and  ached." 

"Oh,  dear,  why  didn't  you  send  for  me?" 

"You  forget,  I  didn't  know  where  to  send." 

She  paled  under  the  answer.  "But  you  had 
someone  you  wanted  more."  She  said  this  with 
an  impulsive  touch  of  resentment. 

"She  was  the  best  one  I  ever  had.  Profes- 
sional nurses  are  not  always  as  solicitous  or  as 
kind." 

"Professional,"  Esther  repeated  to  herself,  be- 
traying no  sign  of  the  relief  it  gave  her. 

The  soft  wind  moved  the  curtains  and  let  a 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  199 

flash  of  sunlight  in.  Glenn  looked  out;  the  air 
was  full  of  spring. 

He  could  not  but  think  of  the  old  days,  the 
paths  upon  which  they  had  strolled  now  lay 
green  and  solitary  through  field  and  woods. 

For  a  man  who  loved  to  steep  himself  in  the 
sunshine  and  open  air,  he  but  seldom  indulged 
himself. 

"Esther,  get  your  hat;  it's  too  fine  a  day  to  be 
indoors.  I'll  take  you  away,  out  to  Van  Cort- 
landt  Park." 

"Are  you  able  to  stand  the  trip?  Don't  go 
just  for  my  pleasure." 

"I  shall  enjoy  it  more  than  you  will,"  he  said. 
"It's  what  I  need.  Haven't  I  always  told  you 
how  selfish  I  was." 

Without  another  word  she  obeyed  him,  de- 
lighted at  the  prospect.  Van  Cortlandt  was  beau- 
tiful. They  took  a  little  boat  and  went  out  on 
the  lake.  So  precious  was  the  silence — the  soli- 
tude— the  shadow  of  the  willows,  that  Glenn  al- 
lowed Esther  to  take  the  oars  he  had  taught  her 


200  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

to  handle  and  stretched  himself  full  length  in  the 
boat.  The  water  trembled  under  the  sweet  wind 
that  blew  fresh  upon  him. 

Esther  was  in  one  of  her  rapturous  moods, 
gaizng  with  wide,  dilated  eyes  upon  the  spring 
woods  opening  out  to  screen  the  unresponsive 
world — leaving  them  alone  together.  She  could 
see  it  all  reviving  him  like  wine. 

"Esther?"    The  name  and  touch  thrilled  her. 

"When  they  told  me  I  might  not  get  well,  I 
thought  of  you — I  had  something  to  tell  you." 

"Tell  me  now." 

"That  was  if  I  had  to  die." 

"Oh.  don't  speak  of  your  death!"  Her  voice 
thrilled  with  a  passion  she  herself  did  not  un- 
derstand. 

"What  I  said  as  a  child  is  still  true.  Life  could 
not  be  sweet  to  me  with  you  out  of  it." 

"Nonsense!  With  a  great  future  flashing  be- 
fore you." 

"Could  any  fortune  be  sweet,  or  any  gift  it 
brought  a  woman  be  worth  having,  if  the  one 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  201 

for  whom  she  cared  were  not  there  to  share  it 
with  her?" 

"A  woman's  love  is  essentially  spiritual  in  its 
nature.  It  does  not  depend  so  much  upon  sight," 
he  said. 

She  had  dropped  the  oars.  They  were  drifting 
dreamily. 

The  sun  had  gone  down  below  the  horizon, 
leaving  purple  shadows  on  its  rim.  The  willows 
sent  their  seductive  motions  across  the  face  of 
the  waters. 

She  looked  at  him  as  though  to  draw  him  near- 
er and  enfold  him  in  her  stretched-out  arms.  The 
warm  impulses  of  her  heart  were  warring  in  their 
wild  effort  to  be  free.  Silence  was  the  language 
of  youth  and  love  to  him — they  needed  no  words. 

The  force  and  the  sweetness,  the  purity  and 
power  of  his  nature  as  she  interpreted  it,  was  th*> 
complete  realization  of  her  beautiful  dreams. 

"Have  you  ever  forgiven  me  for  spilling  your 
blood  and  leaving  a  scar?"  Her  thrillingly  deli- 


2O2  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

cate  touch  on  his  knee  swept  him  with  a  swift, 
vigorous  delight. 

"Forgiven!  I've  blessed  you.  That  is  some- 
thing from  you  that  I  shall  carry  with  me  through 
life.  And  there's  another  I  want — a  memory. 
You  never  have  called  me  by  my  name." 

Looking  into  his  fine,  clear  face,  she  felt  the 
love  flowing  softly  like  a  fountain  in  her  heart. 
"Glenn,"  she  whispered  his  beloved  name. 

"Esther!  dearest!"  Drawing  her  toward  him, 
he  kissed  her  on  her  lips  as  he  held  her  close  in 
the  clasp  of  his  arms  with  the  intensity  of  his 
commanding  love.  Her  hat  had  fallen  off;  he 
caught  the  dank  fragrance  of  her  hair. 

Something  fluttered  in  her  breast — something 
new  and  strange  and  strong.  She  did  not  un- 
derstand that  she  had  left  girlhood  behind  and 
become  a  woman.  All  the  woman  in  her  was 
quickened  by  his  kiss. 

"Oh,  how  I  love  to  feel  your  heart  beating 
against  mine." 

Her  words,  her  kiss,  touched  his  soul  to  its 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  203 

depths.  He  was  startled  at  the  depths  he  had 
stirred. 

"Heart!  dear  heart  of  mine!"  She  was  in  a  fit 
of  adoring  fury.  Her  lips  met  his,  again  and 
again.  She  loved  him  so  humanly  and  yet  there 
was  only  the  tender  throb  and  thrill  of  the  sensi- 
tive nature  in  all  its  refinement.  Sweet  emotions 
shot  through  her  breast. 

"Love  me,  no  matter  what  comes,  Esther,  love 
me." 

He  too  felt  some  hurting  power  bound  through 
his  blood,  and  wrestle  with  his  reserve — his  equil- 
librum. 

His  low  voice,  his  soft  eyes,  held  her;  not  a 
tone,  not  a  look  but  it  caressed  her. 

The  soft  shadows,  the  limpid  waters,  the  open 
air — with  it  altogether  he  felt  a  strange  softening. 

"You  never  said  sweet  words  straight  from 
your  heart  to  me  before." 

"Why  words?  Instinct,  nature,  tells  us  when  a 
thing  is  true.  That  great  silent  power  often 
stands  between  the  soul  and  what  it  loves.  It  is 


204  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

too  deep  for  speech.  Did  you  ever  drop  a  peb- 
ble into  a  well  to  sound  its  depth?  If  it  is  shal- 
low, you  hear  it  when  it  strikes  the  bottom.  But 
if  you  wait  and  never  hear  a  sound,  you  know  it 
is  very  deep." 

Her  sweet,  low  laugh  rippled  out  over  the 
waters. 

"Your  laugh  is  like  that  of  a  child  in  a  happy 
dream.  I  hope  it  will  always  keep  that  sound." 

Straining  her  to  him  a  moment,  he  then  put 
his  hands  to  his  face  to  shut  out  the  dangerous 
sweetness. 

"Nobody  but  you  will  ever  understand  what 
my  nature  is,  because  they  have  never  so  nearly 
felt  it." 

"That's  true,"  he  said,  "the  only  difference  is 
that  I  know  what  is  best  for  as  and  what  is  not." 

"To  make  music,  one  must  have  genuine  feel- 
ing for  it;  that  is  true  of  love.  There  has  always 
been  a  sympathy  between  us,  but  never  before 
so  deep  as  now.  The  greater  the  love,  you  know, 
the  stronger  the  sympathy.  Natures  so  well  tern- 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  205 

pered,  so  sympathetically  adapted,  very  seldom 
can  endure;  neither  can  afford  to  indulge  in  the 
beauty  of  one  he  loves,  for  he  may  lose  his  own 
seekings  in  sharing  hers.  Ideal  love  is  not  to  be 
satisfied." 

He  said  this  with  such  an  expression  of  grief 
and  sentiment  that  no  one  could  doubt  his  belief 
in  his  own  philosophy. 

This  was  life  indeed.  If  he  could  only  hold  it 
forever.  He  wanted  to — he  longed  to— 
might  he  not  desecrate  this  beautiful  soul,  by  in- 
truding his  upon  it  for  so  short  a  time? 

A  sudden  chill  went  through  him.  The  horror 
of  their  ideals  being  endangered  made  him  draw 
back.  He  had  never  entirely  lost  sight  of  the 
delicacy  and  nobility  of  the  relation.  He  was  her 
friend — her  protector. 

Slightly  moving  his  position,  he  said: 
"Esther,  what  is  sweeter  than  comprehensive 
sympathy?  Each  knows  the  other's  highest  aims 
and  hopes,  and  each  tries  to  help  the  other  reach 
and  preserve  those  ideals.  There  is  something 


206  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

beautiful,  noble  in  the  endeavor  to  sustain  the 
ideals  of  one  we  love,  even  though  they  should 
not  always  succeed." 

"I  believe  that.  The  desire,  the  effort — 
shouldn't  that  go  for  something?" 

"I  think  so,  but  will  you  always  think  it?" 

"I  hope  I  shall." 

As  they  anchored  alongside  the  bank,  Glenn 
held  out  his  hand  to  help  her;  her  cheeks  were 
in  bloom  with  life,  and  he  was  going  home  rested, 
with  all  his  senses  and  passions  much  keener  and 
many  degrees  finer  in  their  possibilities. 

"We  have  had  a  day  of  delicious  happiness,  we 
should  be  thankful  for  that,"  he  said.  "In  a 
whole  life  there  are  but  a  few  days  in  which  we 
really  live — we  only  exist  most  of  the  time,"  low- 
ering his  voice  and  looking  into  her  sweet  eyes. 

"To  be  wholly  happy  is  to  forget  the  world 
and  one's  obligations  to  it."  There  was  almost  a 
caress  in  the  way  Glenn  took  out  his  handker- 
chief and  lightly  brushed  the  drops  of  water  from 
her  skirt.  In  putting  the  handkerchief  back  he 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  207 

touched  the  pretty  trifle — a  souvenir  to  recall  her 
twenty-first  birthday.  Twirling  it  between  his 
fingers  he  said: 

"This  is  for  you.  Wear  it  for  the  sake  of  the 
man  who  became  a  boy  and  learned  what  May 
meant." 


CHAPTER  III. 

GLENN  knew  now  that  he  had  been  mistaken. 
The  heart  he  had  tended  drew  all  its  life  still 
from  him.  His  knowledge  of  men  and  women 
was  great.  He  could  not  deceive  himself.  Na- 
ture demanded  a  climax.  He  must  advance  or 
retreat.  He  realized  that  he  was  coming  to  love 
her  too  well — in  a  sweeter,  nearer  way.  They 
were  to  each  other  now  more  of  a  necessity  than 
an  inspirational  force.  He  must  go  away — it 
was  best:  for  their  art,  for  their  peace  of  mind. 
It  was  some  time  before  he  could  tell  her  this. 
He  could  no  longer  trust  himself  to  be  tender 
with  her.  He  dared  not  risk  himself;  he  was  not 
equal  to  it.  It  seemed  to  him  their  companion- 
ship was  never  so  beautiful  as  now  when  he  was 
[208] 


As  The  Hart  Pantetk.  209 

about  to  break  it.  He  was  testing  his  strength 
and  asking  his  own  soul  if  it  were  fit  for  the  work 
and  the  awful  sacrifice.  It  was  during  a  short  in- 
terview that  he  found  courage  to  tell  her  how 
his  doctor  had  advised  a  change  of  scene  and  air. 
A  sea  voyage,  with  perhaps  a  year  abroad;  pos- 
sibly Egypt — personally  he  hardly  expected  to 
get  beyond  the  old  yellow  city  of  his  youthful 
escapades — Paris,  where  the  aromatic  breath  of 
absinthe  had  tinged  the  air.  There  would  be  no 
strain  then.  She  knew  what  it  meant.  She  knew 
it  was  not  for  his  health  alone  that  he  was  put- 
ting the  sea  between  them. 

"It  may  be  just  what  you  need  to  strengthen 
you.  In  travel  I  fancy  you  will  find  oceans  of 
material  for  penwork  and  gulfs  of  inspiration. 
And  in  Paris,  that  you  have  learned  to  love,  you 
might  know  real  life  and  real  joy."  The  words 
cost  her  an  effort,  but  they  were  bravely  said. 

Richmond  Briarley  sat  in  his  office  alone  that 
night.  He  had  just  opened  his  safe  and  from 


2io  As  The  Hart  Pantetk. 

a  package  of  legal  documents  drawn  a  paper 
which  he  unfolded  and  read,  a  note  secured  by 
mortgage,  now  past  due.  At  the  bottom  it  was 
signed  by  the  husband  and  wife.  "Albert  Win- 
ston and  Mildred  Hughes  Winston."  His  lips 
clamped,  the  circular  wrinkles  deepened  round 
his  mouth.  When  he  first  knew  Mildred  Hughes 
he  was  very  young  and  poorer  than  he  was 
young.  He  had  gone  away  and  left  her  to  this 
man,  who  was  well  launched,  expecting  her  to  es- 
cape the  hardships  of  the  poor.  In  time  he  would 
forget  her.  He  remembered  how  he  had  told 
her  so  and  left  her — that  day  was  more  to  him 
than  all  the  rest  of  his  life.  It  was  full  of  her. 
"Forgetfulness!"  He  had  never  learned  the 
meaning  of  the  word.  With  one  swift  survey  of 
the  room,  he  slowly  tore  off  the  woman's  signa- 
ture— this  was  the  last  remnant  of  a  life  that  had 
been  lived.  As  someone  opened  the  door  his 
dream  faded  with  the  sound.  The  next  minute 
Glenn  Andrews  had  come  in,  and  was  standing 
behind  him.  He  rose  abruptly,  closed  the  safe 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  2 1 1 

door,  and  hid  the  small  paper  in  his  hand.  "Hel- 
lo, Andrews."  He  held  himself  down  to  a  sem- 
blance of  calm.  "I  thought  it  was  about  time 
that  you  blew  in.  What  are  you  doing  with  that 
grip?" 

"Taking  it  up  to  pack  it,"  he  said,  as  he  took 
out  cigars  for  both. 

"Indeed!  Are  you  really  off?  Are  you  ro- 
mancing?" 

"Most  of  my  romancing  is  set  to  the  same 
notes — bank  notes.  It  serves  that  purpose  well 
enough.  I  sail  day  after  to-morrow,"  he  added, 
carelessly. 

"So  you  are  going  to  kick  over  the  traces,  eh? 
It's  lucky  not  to  be  tied  so  that  you  couldn't 
break  away." 

"New  York  becomes  more  and  more  intolera- 
ble every  day,  and  I  feel  that  I  must  get  out  of 
it  for  awhile.  I  will  still  do  some  work  on  the 
magazine,  of  course.  Wait;  give  me  a  light." 
Andrews  took  the  paper  that  Briarley  had  twist- 
ed and  touched  it  to  the  gas  jet  above  his  head. 


212  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

It  went  out  before  it  reached  the  cigar.  With  a 
gesture  of  impatience  he  looked  around  and 
found  the  matches. 

They  smoked  on,  talking  together  for  some 
time,  Glenn  toying  with  the  paper  in  his  hand, 
carelessly  rolling  and  unrolling  it.  He  got  a 
glimpse  of  it,  and  said,  quickly:  "Look  here," 
passing  it  over.  "Is  this  of  much  importance? 
Maybe  you  have  burned  the  wrong  thing." 

"Oh,  no!  That's  nothing,"  Briarley  answered, 
with  an  indifferent  gesture.  "Albert  .Winston, 
the  poor  devil,  is  dead,  and  he  died  beaten.  One 
man  has  no  business  to  take  a  mortgage  on  an- 
other's home,  anyhow.  I  may  be  an  unrespon- 
sive brute,  but  I  couldn't  turn  a  woman  and 
children  into  the  street."  His  throat  was  dry  as 
he  turned  his  back  and  laid  the  scorched  paper 
over  the  flames.  "We  might  as  well  finish  it — 
let  the  ashes  settle  it." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Winston  died  in 
poverty?"  Andrews  asked,  as  he  got  up  to  leave. 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  213 

"He  hadn't  a  dollar." 

"Let  me  see;  whom  did  he  marry?" 

"Mildred  Hughes,"  Briarley  hazarded,  repeat- 
ing her  name  calmly. 

"Oh,  that's  so;  I  do  remember  her.  Half  the 
fellows  at  college  were  daft  about  her.  Win- 
ston's money  won  her,  they  thought." 

"Where  are  you  off  to,  now?"  asked  Briar- 
ley. 

Andrews  turned.  "I'vegotthe  ends  of  a  million 
threads  to  wind  up  before  I  start." 

"And  some  to  break,  no  doubt." 

"Let  me  hear  from  you  occasionally,"  Glenn 
said,  as  he  grasped  the  other's  hand,  and  felt  like 
adding,  "I  have  guessed  your  secret,  Briarley. 
my  friend.  Some  men  are  heroes  simply  because 
they  didn't  marry." 

"I'll  try  to  come  down  to  see  you  off.  But  if  I 
shouldn't  make  it,  remember  to  get  all  you  can 
out  of  life,  my  boy,  and  I  wish  you  the  best  of 
good  luck." 


214  As  TJie  Hart  Panteth. 

Andrews  looked  worn,  overworked.  Rich- 
mond Briarley  had  hoped  that  the  returns  from 
the  opera  would  take  some  of  the  strain  off  of  the 
ambitious  fellow — but  the  unfortunate  affair  with 
Stephen  Kent  had  ended  that  hope. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

FOR  two  weeks  Esther  had  been  at  the  sea- 
side. She  had  grown  pale  and  tired  from  the 
ceaseless  round  of  work  and  social  play.  This 
life  had  glamour,  had  charm,  but  no  content- 
ment. Her  pleasure  in  it  was  not  real.  She 
entered  it  with  the  belief  that  it  was  sweet  to 
love,  natural  to  trust.  There  was  nothing  in  life 
but  faith  and  love.  She  was  now  in  the  midst  of 
people  who  talked  with  a  sceptical  contempt  of 
all  that  she  had  held  sacred.  They  laughed  at 
her  simple  faith  in  the  old-fashioned  morality 
taught  her  by  cherished  lips. 

Glenn  Andrews  could  not  leave  without  see- 
ing her  again.  He  had  sent  her  a  message.  In 
the  afternoon  of  the  last  day  he  went  down  to  the 


216  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

seaside  where  she  was  stopping.  The  expression 
on  his  face  was  one  of  unrelenting  yet  melan- 
choly determination.  She  was  not  in,  so  he 
struck  across  the  sand  and  strolled  along  the 
beach  until  he  found  her.  In  spite  of  the  pain  in 
her  heart,  her  sensitive,  proud  face  denied  it. 
There  was  a  smile  on  her  pale  lips. 

"You're  about  as  hard  to  reach  as  the  bag  of 
gold  at  the  rainbow's  end,"  Glenn  said,  "but  I  am 
glad  to  find  that  the  other  hunters  have  npt 
reached  here.  From  stories  that  came  back  to 
town,  you  don't  often  escape  all  of  your  admirers 
at  once.  I  am  fortunate  to  find  you  alone." 

"They  are  fairy  stories  that  every  girl  has  a 
right  to  be  a  heroine  of  during  the  season." 

"I  ventured  to  ask  you  to  be  so  good  as  to 
give  me  an  hour,  only  because  I  am  going  away 
so  soon,  and  I  may  not  see  you  again." 

"Your  'so'  is  femininely  unsatisfactory.  That 
is  the  speech  of  a  woman.  How  soon  is  that?" 

He  pointed  across  the  water.  "You  see  that 
ship?  Just  about  this  time  to-morrow,  when  the 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  217 

Majestic  sails  that  way,  you  may  know  I  am 
aboard  of  her.  I  will  wave  you  a  farewell." 

Esther  felt  a  tremor  run  over  her.  She  looked 
past  him  at  the  baffled  surf,  as,  white  with  rage, 
it  sprang  against  the  pier,  retreating  with  a  roar, 
leaving  a  glimpse  of  the  green  sea  stones  be- 
neath. 

"So  soon  as  that?"  she  said,  her  eyes  opening 
and  closing  convulsively.  "I  must  have  been 
asleep;  I  didn't  realize  that  the  time  was  so  near." 

"Time  is  a  mule;  it  always  takes  the  opposite 
gait  from  that  which  you  want  it  to  take.  This 
month  has  taken  wings."  He  gave  a  swift  glance 
at  her.  "And  I  expect  the  next  one  to  crawl 
— that  is,  after  the  voyage.  I  love  the  water." 

"As  the  doctor  thinks  the  sea  air  so  good  for 
you,  why  don't  you  cruise  along  the  shores  of 
France?" 

"I  may,"  hesitatingly  he  answered;  a  sense  of 
guilt  came  over  him  at  the  thought  of  his  decep- 
tion. 

"How  long  do  you  expect  to  be  gone?" 


2 1 8         A s  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said,  absently;  he  knew  this 
was  not  curiosity,  but  personal  concern;  "it  may 
be  three  months,  or  three  years." 

"Which  do  you  expect  it  to  be?" 

"I  do  not  expect,  because  to  do  that  is  to  rob 
one's  self  of  the  emotion  of  surprise,  without 
which  there  is  little  pleasure  in  living." 

"I  don't  believe  I  could  be  surprised  any  more. 
I  know  how  little  there  is  ahead.  I  have  been  ar- 
ranging it  all  in  my  mind." 

He  looked  seaward.    "How's  that?" 

"Well,  Mrs.  Low  goes  home  with  her  daugh- 
ter." Here  she  touched  her  hands  together  im- 
pulsively. 

"You  both  are  going;  that  leaves  me  alone." 

"If  thoughts  count  for  anything,  you  will  never 
be  alone." 

"How  am  I  to  know  that?" 

"You  have  the  word  of  Glenn  Andrews,"  he 
said  quickly;  "besides  you  have  a  glorious  fu- 
ture to  look  forward  to.  You  have  attained! 
What  happiness  is  there  like  unto  it?  Among  the 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  219 

many  desires  of  my  heart,  the  first  is  of  your 
happiness,  which  I  believe  lies  through  your  art. 
I  am  proud  for  you.  Let  me  have  one  comfort 
before  we  part.  Promise  me  that  you  will  not 
disappoint  me  in  my  hopes  for  you.  Your  suc- 
cess has  come  high." 

"Well,  your  future,  tell  me  of  that  and  what 
your  art  has  cost  you." 

"What  I  have  suffered  is  too  late  to  discuss. 
One  can  rate  truly  only  as  far  as  one  has  gone. 
I  cannot  see  as  far  ahead  for  myself  as  for  my 
friends." 

"I  can  see  for  you."  She  spoke  slowly,  and 
with  difficulty.  "Not  only  perfect  health,  but 
laurels.  I  hope  my  little  spot  in  your  heart  may 
not  be  entirely  shadowed  by  the  lustre  of  that 
hour."  Her  composure  was  returning.  "I  shall 
miss  you;  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  appreciate 
the  value  of  your  friendship,  of  which  I  stood  in 
need.  Yon  have  helped  me  by  your  fond  belief 
in  me." 

He  didn't  raise  his  head,  but  his  hand. 


220  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

"Oh,  I  have  done  so  little;  don't  shame  me. 
You  have  been  taking  care  of  me  instead.  You 
have  made  my  life  richer — deeper — brought  back 
some  of  the  old  faith  in  my  own  ideals  that  was 
gradually  being  crushed  out.  I  can  understand 
how  men  can  be  forced  to  such  a  height  that  fall- 
ing would  seem  too  far  and  hard.  I  wish  I  could 
feel  that  I  had  brought  half  the  sunlight  into  your 
life  as  you  have  into  mine." 

"You  have  brought  the  most  that  will  ever  be 
there." 

"Oh,  don't  say  that  just  as  I  am  going;  that 
kind  of  sun  shines  not  only  through  the  senses, 
but  through  the  soul.  It  will  always  shine  if  you 
will  only  think  so." 

She  bowed  her  head,  the  wide  fringe  of  brown 
seaweed  trembled  under  the  waves  that  ran  up 
on  the  warm-hued  sand. 

"And  I  am  glad  that  we  have  had  this  year. 
With  all  its  pain — it  is  ours.  Think  of  me  some- 
times when  I  am  gone,  Esther.  Be  good — by 
that  I  mean,  brave.'* 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  221 

His  voice  broke. 

The  tense  strain  of  the  moment  was  ended,  as 
he  bent  forward.  His  heart  was  in  the  kiss  he 
left  on  her  hair.  He  turned  and  walked  quickly 
away  without  looking  back. 

In  the  darkness  of  her  room,  a  young  figure 
lay  stricken  with  grief  across  her  bed,  mourning 
the  vision  of  her  ideals  that  seemed  gone  without 
fulfillment.  In  the  morning  when  she  heard 
the  happy  sound  of  laughing  voices  the  hopeless- 
ness of  her  bereavement  came  over  her  afresh. 
She  was  alone  in  her  sorrow  and  memories.  She 
was  so  weak  that  her  body  felt  bruised,  and  her 
arms  lay  like  a  dead  weight  at  her  side.  Was  her 
courage  broken?  She  prayed  a  passionate  prayer 
for  the  poor,  heartless  women  who  had  kept  faith 
with  virtue,  and  had  not  been  rewarded — who  had 
scattered  their  broken  ideals  along  the  road  that 
they  went,  that  all  who  followed  must  bleed  and 
suffer.  She  reached  out  for  her  violin;  for  a 
while  she  lay  still  with  it  in  her  arms.  It  was  not 
sufficient.  She  needed  some  human  thing  for 


222  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

companionship.  Her  soul  hated  its  bodily  en- 
thrallment — she  would  fly  out  if  it — she  must. 
With  a  supreme  effort  she  raised  herself,  and 
faced  the  mirror.  Her  wide,  dim  eyes  looked  out 
at  her  in  pity.  Then  from  her  window  she  saw 
a  steamer  going  out.  It  was  time  for  the  Majes- 
tic that  was  to  take  Glenn  Andrews  out  of  New 
York — out  of  her  life.  The  two  loves  of  her  life 
— they  must  die  together.  •  Suddenly  grasping 
the  neck  of  her  violin,  she  struck  it  against  the 
side  of  the  bed  and  shattered  the  exquisite  thing. 
She  fell  back  prostrate,  and  there  for  weeks  she 
lay  between  this  life  and  the  eternal. 


CHAPTER  V. 

GLENN  ANDREWS  went  to  France,  to  Moret- 
sur-Loing,  an  old  cathedral  town,  thinly  peopled, 
on  the  skirts  of  the  forest  of  Fontainbleu.  It  was 
secluded  and  out  of  the  way.  Here  he  would  lead 
a  quiet  life  of  study  and  work.  This  was  his  de- 
light. A  poet-soul  living  in  the  pursuit,  not  pos- 
session of  the  ideal.  He  had  taken  up  his  abode 
in  a  little,  old  inn.  Away  from  the  world  and  yet 
so  near  it.  This  was  a  beautiful  country;  the 
sight  of  it  did  his  spirit  good.  He  loved  the  hills 
and  valleys  and  streams.  On  one  side  the  ruins 
of  an  old  Keep  belting  him,  and  on  the  other,  the 
mills  with  long  rows  of  deep  windows,  from 
which  the  workers  looked  out  upon  the  sunshine 


224  As  T 

and  their  homes.    The  small  mill-houses  nestled 
low  in  the  leaves. 

One  day,  returning  late  from  a  long  walk, 
Glenn  passed  a  peasant  mother,  poorly  clothed, 
seated  in  her  doorway;  her  child  was  sitting  by 
with  its  hands  about  its  knees.  She  kept  point- 
ing to  the  path  that  led  to  the  mill.  She  was  evi- 
dently looking  for  some  one.  Soon  a  man  came 
in  sight.  A  glow  lit  in  the  sombre  eyes  of  the 
mother,  and  a  smile  leaped  from  her  haggard  face 
to  the  weary  man,  who  suddenly  straightened  his 
drooping  shoulders.  There  was  something  be- 
sides pain  and  work  in  the  world,  and  they  had 
found  it.  He  took  the  child  in  his  arms,  tossing 
it  up  and  letting  it  fall  back  again — this  human 
miniature  of  their  love  and  youth.  Many  a  day, 
Glenn  strolled  at  evening  to  see  their  meeting 
when  the  father  came  home  from  the  mill.  It 
rested  him.  He  became  absorbed  in  his  work, 
reading  the  proof  of  the  third  book  that  was  to 
add  something  to,  or  take  from,  the  name  of  the 
lyrical  poet. 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  225 

It  was  not  long  until  he  heard  of  Esther's  ill- 
ness. It  gave  him  a  stab  of  remorse  and  dis- 
tressed him  sorely.  Had  he,  who  had  nurtured 
her  soul  so  carefully,  injured  it  more  deeply  than 
the  careless  world?  He  who  had  enthralled  her 
childhood,  steadfastly  guided  her  girlhood — in 
whose  woman's  destiny  he  had  played  so  fatal 
a  part.  Here  the  pathos  and  the  irony  were 
strangely  interwoven.  Would  it  have  been  better 
had  she  never  known  the  broader,  fuller  world? 
Had  she  now  been  living  away  her  life  contented- 
ly in  the  dark?  These  questions  came  between 
him  and  his  work.  As  he  gazed  dreamily  out,  the 
leaves  were  swaying  carelessly.  A  vision  of  the 
dependent,  lovely  girl  overwhelmed  him.  In  the 
wind  he  seemed  to  hear  Esther's  voice — all  the 
youth  and  laughter  gone  out  of  it.  It  was  not 
like  that  day  when  he  held  her  face  between  his 
hands  and  gave  her  the  kiss  of  love.  He  sighed 
for  the  virginal  softness  of  her  tremulous  lips. 
The  wind  went  wandering  along  the  wood's  green 
edge,  like  a  miserable  thing,  offering  no  consola- 


226  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

tion.  From  his  meditation  came  like  an  accusing 
ghost  the  realization  that  there  is  but  one  true 
aim  in  life — to  seek  and  find  the  soul's  comple- 
ment. He  had  sought.  He  had  found,  but  he 
had  sacrificed.  The  spiritual  need  of  his  soul 
had  been  set  aside.  For  what?  An  agony  of 
yearning  welled  up  in  his  heart — a  yearning  for 
the  sense  of  her  sweet  presence  which  thrilled 
him  with  a  joy  of  pain.  The  best  of  love  they  had 
missed — the  supreme  surrender. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ESTHER'S  health  was  returning,  and  with  it  her 
strength.  Her  pride  and  her  spirit,  both,  were  fired, 
There  was  one  thing  left  to  her  in  her  grief — con- 
cealment. She  bound  this  thought  to  her  heart, 
and  held  it  close — so  close.  She  was  a  soldier's 
daughter,  and  came  of  a  stock  whose  fortitude  in 
defeat  had  been  even  more  splendid  than  their 
valor  in  war.  To  her  the  secret  of  love  had  been 
harshly  told,  but  she  would  hear  it  with  courage. 
In  the  swiftest  current  of  destiny,  she  would  show 
her  womanly  strength. 

[227] 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"You  will  wonder  at  seeing  this  letter  from 
me,"  Glenn  wrote  to  Esther,  "for  it  will  not  be 
a  usual  one — not  at  all  the  sort  of  letter  you  have 
been  accustomed  to  receiving  from  me.  Per- 
haps it  is  that  I  have  changed — greatly  changed 
from  that  old  self  you  knew — most  of  all  changed 
from  what  I  used  to  be  to  you.  I  can  see  you 
now  as  you  looked  to  me  that  afternoon  at  In- 
dian Well,  when  I  first  spoke  to  you.  You 
touched  me  so  closely  then — so  nearly — and  you 
were  such  a  child. 

"All  through  that  first  year  I  think  you  could 

never  have  guessed  how  much  the  blossoming  of 

that  little  wild  heart  of  yours  meant  to  me.     I 

watched  it  from   day  to  day,  from  month   to 

[228] 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  229 

month,  so  closely.  Maybe  I  watered  it  some, 
and  pulled  some  of  the  weeds  that  might  have 
crowded  its  roots.  I  hope  so.  You  were  a  child 
then  and  I  a  man,  yet  I  had  been  a  man  without 
a  passion.  I  thought  much  in  those  days,  and 
dreamed  that  I  knew  myself.  Achievement  was 
my  god.  I  told  myself  that  my  interest  in  you 
was  the  interest  of  the  philosopher — the  master 
— and  I  watched  your  mind  unfold  with  a  curi- 
ous delight.  I  know  now,  dear,  that  it  was  a  far 
different  feeling  from  that — one  that  went  far 
deeper  and  meant  much  more  to  me,  even  when 
I  would  not  admit  it  to  myself.  It  is  to  his  own 
heart  last  of  all  that  a  man  admits  his  own  error. 
And  yet,  as  I  look  back  at  it  now,  I  think  that 
I  meant  to  be  honest  with  myself.  When  you 
came  to  the  city  and  I  saw  the  wondrous  woman 
that  had  grown — when  I  saw  your  flower  heart — 
still  the  heart  of  the  child  in  all  that  was  sweet 
and  innocent — turning  more  and  more  towards 
me  for  its  sun — it  waked  something  new  within 
me.  I  saw  the  problem.  I  felt  your  dependence 


230  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

grow  each  day  stronger.  You  leaned  upon  me 
so  that  I  thought  sometimes  I  could  feel  every 
throb  of  your  heart.  You  wei \.  achieving.  Your 
art  was  growing.  Your  genius  was  lifting.  You 
were  coming  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  ideal  that 
I  had  imagined  for  you.  When  such  a  devel- 
opment has  become  the  great  and  absorbing  pas- 
sion of  a  man's  life,  I  cannot  express  to  you  how 
haunting  becomes  the  fear  of  disappointment, 
how  terrible  the  jealousy  of  circumstance  that 
may  step  between  him  and  its  fulfillment.  You 
had  beautiful  ideals — such  as  I  have  had — and 
they  had  grown  a  part  of  you.  To  lose  them 
would  have  ashed  the  ember;  it  would  have  dead- 
ened the  quick  sensibilities  and  wounded  that 
soul-instinct  of  yours  in  which  your  music  lived. 
And  when  I  saw  these  ideals  dependent  upon  me 
— upon  my  presence — upon  the  sympathy  of 
mine,  which  I  could  not  have  denied  if  I  had 
tried — I  stood  by  them  and  you.  Dear,  the  soul 
of  a  woman  is  a  wonderful  thing.  It  will  not 
bear  experiment.  Yours  was  like  a  sensitive 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  231 

plant  that  cannot  bear  the  light,  and  sheds  its 
loveliest  perfume  in  the  dark.  So  I  tried  to  give 
it  the  darkness — to  cloud  the  glare  of  hollowness 
that  was  in  our  world — to  let  the  light  in  slowly 
and  only  when  the  leaves  were  strong  enough 
to  bear  it.  All  this  time  I  could  not  help  but 
see  that  when  I  went  from  you  the  shock  would 
be  great.  My  philosophy  taught  me  the  penalty 
of  emotion,  and  I  thought  I  had  much  to  do  in 
the  world.  I  dreamed  of  work  that  would  absorb 
me  utterly — that  would  take  the  best  that  was  in 
me,  of  feeling  and  of  effort.  All  my  life  I  had 
denied  myself  the  passion  that  my  eyes  told  me 
was  growing  in  you.  I  had  grown  to  consider 
myself  apart  from  others — a  mental  solitary  who 
had  locked  the  door  of  his  heart  because  he  had 
work  to  do.  It  had  not  occurred  to  me  that  the 
Juggernaut  whose  rumbling  wheels  I  would  not 
hear  might  crush  you.  It  was  the  concert  at  the 
Metropolitan  that  opened  my  eyes.  I  knew  then 
that  your  art  and  your  heart  had  twined  together 
so  intimately  that  if  one  were  cut,  the  other  would 


232  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

bleed.  I  knew  then  that  I  must  either  go  or 
stay,  that  if  I  became  a  stronger  part  of  you  my 
going  would  be  fatal  to  your  own  achievement 
and  to  mine.  Dear,  it  was  not  all  selfishness — • 
this  resolve  of  mine.  You  will  never  know  what 
it  meant  to  me  to  tear  up  the  roots  that  had 
grown  in  spite  of  me:  it  was  like  tearing  the 
flesh  and  leaving  it  quivering.  But  that  I  could 
have  borne  if  it  left  you  better  able  to  go  on.  I 
did  not  know  then  what  I  know  now.  I  blame 
myself  that  I  did  not  read  truer.  The  news  of 
your  breakdown  and  the  giving  up  of  your  music 
came  to  me  like  a  blow  in  the  dark.  In  show- 
ing me  yours,  it  has  shown  me  my  own  heart. 
The  depths  of  my  self-condemnation  have 
taught  me  myself.  It  has  taught  me  that  achieve- 
ment is  a  pitiful  thing  compared  with  a  woman's 
love — that  your  happiness  means  more  to  me — 
a  thousand  times  more — than  success :  that  I  love 
you — I  love  you — utterly  and  wholly — and  that 
I  want  you  to  be  my  wife.  The  future  is  impos- 
sible to  me  without  you.  Each  day  since  I  saw 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  233 

you,  your  step  has  been  in  every  sound.  Each 
night  your  face  has  been  my  vision.  Here  from 
my  window  I  can  see  a  little  knoll  on  which  is 
a  cross,  where  the  peasants  go  to  pray  to  the 
patron  saint  of  the  village.  It  is  ugly,  and  bat- 
tered, and  old,  but  it  has  come  to  be  beautiful  to 
me,  for  I  know  now  what  they  are  praying  for. 
The  hills  are  gold  with  the  grain,  and  a  little 
winding  path'  runs  down  toward  my  eyrie.  I  can 
almost  imagine  you  coming  down  it  now  to  meet 
me,  with  your  dear  face  raised  to  my  win- 
dow  " 

As  Glenn  finished  the  page,  the  boy  tapped  at 
the  little  door  with  the  daily  mail,  and  he  reached 
out  an  indifferent  hand  to  take  it.  A  familiar 
flourish  caught  his  eye,  and,  recognizing  Rich- 
mond Briarley's  penmanship,  he  opened  a  bulky 
envelope.  A  card,  closely  written,  and  a  small 
book  met  his  gaze. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"Mv  young  Idealist,  I  send  you  a  clever  story, 
one  which  shows  remarkable  talent,  and  which 
you  really  must  read.  There  is,  or  was,  once 
upon  a  time  in  this  town,  another  consummate 
young  Idealist  like  yourself,  but  of  the  female 
persuasion ;  a  protege  of  yours  who  fiddled.  She, 
I  remember,  believed  in  a  few  things;  among 
others,  that  there  was  a  little  to  be  considered 
besides  art,  and  that  she  had  a  lump  somewhere 
which  she  called  a  heart.  You  have  always  been 
troubled  with  the  same  feature,  I  believe. 

"The  lady  has  just  issued  a  story,  which  I 

send  you  to-day.    Just  take  a  look  at  it  and  find 

me  that  lump,  will  you?    Cold  as  an  icicle!    By 

the  way,  I  understand  that  the  lady  in  question 

[234J 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  235 

was  quite  a  social  success  here  in  our  city,  and 
very  much  sought  after  in  drawing  rooms,  in 
which  she  earned  about  her  own  price.  She  has 
come  to  the  philosophical  conclusion  that  you 
used  to  uphold :  which  is,  that  as  long  as  a  person 
does,  it  don't  much  matter  what  a  person  feels. 
Anyway,  she  is  doing  it;  and  I  take  it  from  this 
novel  that  she  is  not  feeling  much  either. 

"Yours,     Briarley." 

Glenn  read  the  letter  with  a  curious  shock,  and 
opened  the  novellette.  As  he  finished  the  last 
page  and  laid  it  down  on  the  table  beside  him — 
this  story  with  the  heart  of  a  stone — he  sat  look- 
ing out  the  window  with  a  daze  of  anguish  in  his 
eyes.  His  hands  were  supporting  his  bearded 
chin.  Without,  the  splendid  sunset,  the  gilding 
flame  of  which  caused  his  features  to  shine  re- 
splendently.  His  sad,  wistful  face,  convulsed 
with  emotion.  What  a  tumult  of  silent,  unspeak- 
able memories;  what  feelings  of  regret  and  long- 
ing! Instinct  does  not  always  point  the  truth. 


236  As  The  Hart  Panteth. 

No  suspicion  of  the  brave  ruse  of  Esther  came  to 
him  now — no  apprehension  of  the  hurt  pride 
whose  strain  of  revolt  forced  from  her  this  liter- 
ary lie.  He  had  been  driven  blindly  on  by  his 
yearning  for  the  more  perfect  art.  He  didn't  care 
for  laurels  now,  nor  for  that  art  for  whose  sake 
he  had  destroyed  the  best  thing  in  his  life.  Was 
ever  heart-break  more  cruel?  He  sat  for  an  hour 
in  silence.  The  sunset  had  lost  its  beauty.  The 
grain  on  the  hills  had  lost  its  gold.  He  took  the 
letter  he  had  been  writing  to  Esther,  tore  it  up, 
and  flung  the  fragments  of  what,  if  he  had  known, 
was  the  best  of  his  life,  out  the  window.  A  lazy 
breeze  caught  them  up  and  scattered  them.  A 
single  one  with  the  word  "love"  on  it  was  blown 
back  and  settled  slowly  in  his  hat.  A  bell  was 
ringing  for  compline.  He  saw  the  peasants  in 
their  simple  devotion  going  slowly  to  worship. 
He  took  his  hat  and  walked  across  the  street  to 
the  little  cafe.  There  two  comrades  called  him 
over  to  have  a  bottle  of  wine  with  them. 

"Ah,  poet!"  one  said,  laughing  as.  he  reached 


As  The  Hart  Panteth.  237 

over  and  took  the  stray  bit  of  paper  that  lay  on 
his  hair.  "Still  the  philosopher!  Making  love 
with  your  head?" 

"You're  wrong,  this  time,  it  was  from  the 
heart,"  and  Glenn  Andrews  forced  the  shadow  of 
a  smile  into  his  lips. 


THE  END. 


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